


A Supernova Collapsing

by Black_Ranger



Series: I Found Peace in Your Violent Bones [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different Powers, Author bluffing the science, Blood and Violence, Everyone Also Needs Therapy and That's Okay, Everyone Needs A Hug, Found Family is the hill I will always choose to die on, Jongho is so traumatised good god someone please help him, M/M, Minor Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Minor Jeong Yunho/Kang Yeosang, Minor Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa, Mutant Powers, No beta we post like men, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, The Author Regrets Everything, The boys just wanna help the small bean, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27922672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Ranger/pseuds/Black_Ranger
Summary: Choi Jongho has lived his entire life on the run, hiding in the shadows, because he was born different: he was born a Metahuman. He's survived so far but one fateful encounter with a Psy-Ops squad sends the domino chain of fate tumbling. Thrust into the orbit of conspiring government forces and Metahuman resistance groups alike, can Jongho survive?
Series: I Found Peace in Your Violent Bones [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044657
Comments: 28
Kudos: 51





	1. Jongho and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> I own none of these characters and any likeness to any person, event, location in real life is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction I cooked up in my fried brain at 3am! Please don't jump me if you don't like this. I have cats to feed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A murder in his neighbourhood.  
> The government knocking on his door.  
> Jongho thinks he's probably losing more than just his security deposit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoy this just as much as I enjoyed writing it c:  
> I will try to update on a weekly basis to the best of my ability.  
> Without further ado, please enjoy c:

**The turn of the 20th century brought about the discovery of Metahumans: a new species of humans with special abilities. It wasn’t publicised but governments worldwide came to know of them. Many were secretly drafted and deployed in the World Wars as special weapons, resulting in catastrophic losses on all sides.**

**Afterwards, many countries refused to acknowledge their contributions, instead turning their backs on them. While many governments buried the truth, others sought to eliminate the perceived threats. This led to mandated capture or kill orders carried out against the Metahumans.**

**Metahumans with weak or ‘useless’ abilities were tagged and monitored; those with powerful abilities that could be weaponised were captured and sent to facilities, their very existence erased from records as they were never seen or heard from again. Anyone who fought the process was killed, their bodies carted off for examination. It was a pitiful existence, one that drove Metahumans even further underground.**

**However, a movement was kickstarted in the late 60’s, demanding rights for Metahumans. It was harder to hide the news when it could be disseminated so easily, so some governments grudgingly accepted the new status quo, acknowledging their existence. Decades have passed and some nations have turned into safe havens for Metahumans, offering sanctuary and citizenship for refugees.**

**The road has not been easy though; the way paved with bloody sacrifice and dirty fights. South Korea, unfortunately, staunchly remains one of the worst countries for Metahumans. After a Metahuman terrorist attack, government task forces were formed to hunt them down: the most infamous of which was dubbed “Psy-Ops”.**

**There was no tagging with them: only capture or death. All Metahumans knew that death still awaited them with capture though, just a slower and more painful one.**

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

The putrid stench of garbage filled the air, the alleyway full of overflowing dumpsters and forgotten trash. Rain water sluiced downward, creating a horrible concoction that soaked the ground as it mixed with the filth that had been caked into the pavement. Not even a rat or stray cat could be seen skittering about, the air heavy with the scent of fresh death and spilled blood. Not a creature moved or made a sound, the very walls holding their breath as the lone living being stood hunched over, their chest heaving as their clothes steadily started to soak through with the pouring rain.

Jongho stumbled away from the bodies littering the ground, boots sloshing through murky water. His eyes were wide and burning with unshed tears. He couldn’t tear them away from the sight of the lone woman lying amidst it all, red hoodie stained even darker with the blood still leaking from the holes in her chest. Her eyes were frozen open in death, glassy and accusing as they watched him pull his hood up over his head with shaky bloodstained hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the broken whisper falling on deaf ears. “I _tried_.” 

He had. _He really had this time._

His throat felt scraped raw, his chest heavy, as he turned and staggered back towards his apartment. He stuck to the shadows, avoiding the few working cctv cameras like the plague. Not many people were up at this hour; those who were, their gazes slid away from him like water on oil. 

In this part of town, everyone preferred to keep to themselves.

Jongho was swaying wildly with each tremulous step by the time he made it to the bathroom, leaving behind a steady trail of dripping water. The world swirled under his feet, the edges of his vision starting to darken as he clung to the sink, staining the porcelain with streaks of red. He peeled off his hoodie, grunting when it pulled at the deep gash running across his side.

More red wept out as he tried to examine it in the mirror, the colour dripping bright under the harsh lights.

He couldn’t stay here. Not after what he just did. He had to patch himself up as best as he could and get the fuck outta dodge.

Jongho turned, trying to reach for the first aid kit he always kept stocked and ready in case of shit like this. 

But his body refused to obey. It leaned into the bathroom wall, legs already slowly turning to jelly as he slumped sideways.

“No, no,” he mumbled weakly, trying desperately to push himself back up to his feet. “Get the fuck up,” he pleaded but it was a lost cause.

Jongho crumpled into a pathetic heap on his bathroom floor, one hand clutching weakly at his side while the other kept him from face planting directly into the cold tiles. His ass was already starting to go numb, his blood-stained and rain-drenched pants doing little for insulation or padding. The cut prickled painfully, too warm compared to the rest of him as he shivered.

He was just so _fucking_ cold and tired; he couldn’t fight it any longer when the darkness dragged him under into its warm embrace.

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

Yunho and Yeosang held back from the main crowd mingling around the crime scene, playing the part of curious passer byers but still keeping their distance. Residents of the area and journalists were strewn about, trying to peek around the police line standing in front of the bright yellow tape but they were all denied. The air was thrumming with activity, questions being tossed around with no discernible answer in sight, as police and Psy-Ops agents (disguised as detectives) picked around for clues.

Yunho and Yeosang had been sent out by Hongjoong to investigate when Seonghwa had picked up on news of some Psy-Ops agents getting taken out. The internet was already starting to buzz, forums and posts getting taken down just as quickly as they were uploaded. Someone had managed to snap photos of covered bodies and got them circulating. But the quality had been absolutely butchered with the constant re-uploads as the internet fought against the Psy-Ops censorship. 

No one knew jack shit so here they were at eight in the morning, playing the role of university students crawling home after a shitty all-nighter that just so happened to stumble across a crime scene close to home. Their faces were carefully hidden behind black facemasks, Yeosang’s jacket hood pulled up to hide his bright blond hair while Yunho donned a simple black cap.

“Five bodies,” Yeosang murmured, eyes wide and unseeing as he gleaned information from the forensic technicians still on sight. 

“Well shit,” Yunho said, whistling lowly, “that’s a whole Psy-Ops hit squad right there.” He sighed, already weary of the shitstorm on the horizon.

“But who’s the plus one?” he asked.

“A Meta,” Yeosang told him, frowning behind his face mask as he watched through an agent’s eyes. 

They waved dismissively, barely giving the dead body a second glance as forensics zipped up the body bag, ready to be carted off and dissected no doubt.

“Shit,” Yunho hissed next to him, expression tightening.

Yeosang hummed his assent before closing his eyes as he let the minds of everyone present wash over him. It felt like shoving his head face first into a waterfall; the urge to pull back, to retreat against the deluge rose but he tamped it back down. They needed information whether he liked it or not.

Voices washed over him, the obnoxious ones bearing down on him almost painfully until he pushed on, parsing through it all. He picked across the minds of the agents present, listening in for anything relevant before bouncing on to the next. And rinse and repeat.

Apparently the Psy-Ops squad had been sent out to bring in the suspected metahuman last night but they never checked back in. Then someone had gone looking for them and sounded the alarm at the discovery of them all dead in some back alley. The metahuman had been killed by the agents, but no one had any clue as to who had wiped the squad out. The kills hadn’t been clean, the bodies left broken and burned after the attack.

Tensions were running high and other agents were already out scouring the area for any possible leads.

Yeosang broadened his reach, following the Psy-Ops agents as they went knocking on doors. He brushed against the residents’ minds, disappointment growing with the glaring lack of anything.

The killings had happened at a late hour, early enough to be considered the next day even. There were a few people who’d heard the screams and gunshots but they flinched away from the memory, choosing to forget and move on. Criminal activity was the norm in the area and no one wanted to chance drawing the ire of the perpetrator by coming forward.

It was starting to look hopeless, Yeosang finding nothing but dead ends as he scoured the neighbourhood in vain. Pressure was starting to build behind his eyes as he pored over the voices, frustration growing in tandem with the ache in his head.

Sighing, Yeosang was about to give up, eyelids close to fluttering open. 

But something gave him pause. His eyes flew open with a sharp inhale as he honed in on a scared voice.

Yeosang spun on his heel, head swivelling around as he tried to find the desperate voice he could hear bouncing around in it. It was one of many, slipping away in the slipstream as he tried to grab hold of it.

Yunho immediately picked up on the sudden change in his partner, words dying in his throat as he scanned their surroundings. He sidled up closer to Yeosang, careful to not crowd him but close enough to protect him in case of anything.

“Yeosang?” Yunho prompted quietly, tense with concern. 

“I heard something,” Yeosang told him, the words coming out breathless as he got lost in the whispers washing over him.

The voices streamed through his consciousness, some faint while others were loud, as his mind picked up on all the thoughts in his search for the right one. Gritting his teeth in frustration, Yeosang shut his eyes again to better focus his ability. It was like flicking through different radio channels, all of them with shitty signal as he tried to find a specific song playing. 

He tossed aside the useless irrelevant musings flooding his mind as he tried desperately to find the one that had screamed out just a few seconds ago.

_“I should break up with him today-”_

_“Doesn’t she feel sick lying to Dad’s face like that every day-”_

_“Where do I find the money for the treatment-”_

_“Why the fuck did I fall asleep? I need to get out. There are cops everywhere. Fuck.”_

**There.**

Locking onto the voice with a vice-like grip, Yeosang traced it back to the source and opened his eyes to see through the other’s own.

He could vaguely see his physical setting, Yunho hovering in the peripheral, but he could also see the street from a high vantage point – like some nauseating double exposure shot. There was the unmistakable glint of a window showing from where the person had drawn the curtains aside to peek down at the crime scene encompassing the far end of the street.

A knock sounded, loud and far away, causing the hand at the curtain to clench.

_“Oh god they found me-”_

Wrenching himself out of the person’s mind, Yeosang shook his head slightly as he tried to clear it like an etch-n-sketch. He stumbled a little, his foot catching on the pavement as he tried to find the building the person was in, but Yunho caught him easily.

“Easy, Sangie,” he said quickly, steadying him, “I gotchu”. 

Dark piercing eyes never left his, Yunho’s hand going up to his earpiece as he reassured San and Seonghwa on the other end.

“What did you see?” he asked.

Yeosang grabbed his hand and set off towards the building, not wasting any time as he calculated which floor the person could be staying on. Yunho went along with him, slinging an arm easily over his shoulder as they played the part of half-dead uni students finally stumbling home. Shifting, Yeosang feinted a grip on Yunho’s arm while pressing a finger to his own ear piece.

“I found someone who was involved,” Yeosang said, earning a raised brow from his partner. “I think they’re a witness.” He wasn’t sure. He hadn’t gotten to see enough before the knock on the door.

“They’re in the red building on the corner, in an apartment directly overlooking the street and the crime scene. I would say 6th to 8th floor,” he rattled off.

“They’re in trouble though,” he said, meeting Yunho’s eyes to watch as the man’s gaze hardened. “They’re terrified someone’s going to find them. Then I heard knocking.” He could still feel the phantom swooping sensation of fear and dread flooding his system. “We have to hurry.”

Nodding sharply, Yunho squeezed his shoulder lightly to reassure him.

“We have to get to them before Psy-Ops,” Yunho said, slipping his arm off Yeosang’s shoulders. “San, I need you on the roof,” he ordered.

“Got it, boss.” There was a faint familiar crack as San teleported onto the rooftop. Yeosang caught the blur of movement as San moved into place.

“The place is crawling with Psy-Ops,” Seonghwa warned, worry seeping through the comms even if the man was sequestered safely at base far, far away. 

“Do not engage if you can,” Yunho said. “We should focus on extracting the witness and getting the fuck outta here.”

“Roger roger,” San said, mimicking the droid from Star Wars much to Yunho’s chagrin if the eye roll was anything to go by.

“A group just entered the building,” Seonghwa told them. “I count four with concealed weapons. There’s more out back on standby. You’re looking at eight, at least.”

“Jesus,” Yunho hissed under his breath, eyeing the men loitering around the corners. “There might be more than one Meta in the area.” This was overkill for just one person, especially discounting the police and other agents already crawling around the crime scene.

The men hanging around the apartment building had cans of coffee in hand and were smoking as they chatted, but a closer look would reveal the tense shoulders and alert eyes sweeping the street. Their hands would subconsciously graze at concealed weapons every now and then, as if to double check that they were there. There was also the fact that they resolutely refused to face the crime scene in a paper thin attempt at avoiding suspicion. 

A stray gaze landed on them and Yunho expertly slid his arms around Yeosang’s waist, leaning into the man to force him to catch him. To really sell it, he threw his head back in a loud laugh as Yeosang stumbled under the sudden weight. It was nauseatingly intimate, immediately warding against prying eyes and offering temporary immunity from scrutiny.

“ _God_ , you’re heavy,” Yeosang grunted, forcing his eyes into something that looked like a smile to anyone watching.

His little quip earned him a baleful glare while Yunho clung to him. Then the elder gave him a small pinch in retaliation, before quickly straightening back up as Yeosang fought to not yelp out loud in surprise.

“There’s too many to fight our way in,” Yunho said thoughtfully. “Can you take them out?” he asked, looking down at him.

“Not for long,” Yeosang hedged, hesitant.

“Don’t worry, Sangie,” Yunho said, his eyes squeezing into crescents as he flashed an encouraging smile under the mask no doubt. “You got this. In and out.”

Not wanting to disappoint, Yeosang swallowed thickly, nodding sharply. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deep, focusing on the Psy-Ops members within range around the building, those on the ground floor, and out back. Yunho’s arms swallowed him into a hug, his presence large and grounding, as he hid Yeosang while he used his ability.

It was like shoving himself face first into tar, the minds and their thoughts clinging to him like oil as he froze them in place, shutting them down temporarily. It would be all too easily to keep pressing down, to smother their minds out like one would to a few matches. _No one would miss a few more dead Psy-Ops_. But they needed to fly under the radar for now so he held back. His head pounded with the effort but they all quickly slipped into a standstill, bodies frozen midway in whatever action they had been doing. 

To them, it would feel like a sudden black out, while the outside world would just see four men standing unnervingly still.

Eyes flying open, Yeosang staggered towards the building, dragging Yunho with him.

“I can’t hold it for long,” he wheezed, the effort to freeze four trained Psy-Ops agents without killing someone already getting to him as sweat beaded at his forehead. “Five minutes is all I can give you.”

“That should be more than enough,” Yunho reassured him, easily overtaking the telepath as they ran into the building.

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

Jongho clutched at his side where the knife had cut him, hissing when the movement tugged at his shitty patch up job. His hand came away damp and tinted red. He cursed, dimly grateful that he was wearing black so the blood wouldn’t show too much.

The street buzzed with activity below, cops and Psy-Ops doing their best to cover the crime scene from curious civilian eyes. Biting down on his lip, Jongho tried to think of an escape route, running through countless options in his head as he weighed his chances: an injured Meta up against countless Psy-Ops out for blood. The Odds truly were not in his fucking favour but then again when had they ever been.

He hadn’t meant to lose consciousness like that but the knife wound had fucked him up pretty bad along with everything else. He’d been exhausted after the fight and his body had forced a shutdown to try and recuperate. Sure, the wound had healed somewhat - no longer a jagged gash but a shallow graze - but his little nap had fucked him over royally by costing him his window of opportunity for an escape.

He needed to get out and quick but _how_?

His spiralling despair came to a screeching halt when someone knocked at his door.

Fear seized his heart, coiling tight around his chest and throat, as his hand fell from the curtain.

The knocking came again after a short pause, firm and insistent.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Jongho clenched his hand into a tight fist, forcing himself to check on the door.

Without uttering a single word, he peered through the peephole, brow furrowing at the man standing outside. He shifted impatiently, knocking again – harder this time.

“Room 805, please open up,” he called out.

Jongho watched as he raised his hand again, ready to knock, when he heard someone interrupt them.

“What are you bothering the boy for?”

Freezing at the familiar voice of his old neighbour, Jongho squeezed himself against the door as he tried to see what was happening outside. Anxiety flooded his system anew as he saw the man step away from his door to look at the old grandmother. Practically flattening himself against the surface, Jongho tried to make out what they were saying. He never thought he’d find himself thankful for the ridiculously tissue thin walls and their shit sound proofing, but here he was shooting off a small prayer of gratitude.

“Oh sorry, ma’am,” the man said, voice muffled but still clear. “We’re just asking around to see if anyone saw anything last night.”

“About the dead bodies?” Grandma Lee asked, as if she didn’t know anything when she made it just her business to know everything around these parts. “Terrible – what happened,” she said, tsking.

“Uh yes, ma’am,” the man replied, unsure.

“He wouldn’t know anything about it,” she said, steamrolling ahead. “He works night shift and got back at 7 this morning like he always does. Saw him when I was taking my dog out for a walk.”

Jongho frowned, knowing that she absolutely had not bumped into him this morning. His heart jolted at the realisation that she was offering herself up as his alibi. Swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat, Jongho refocused on the conversation.

“So quit bothering him and let him sleep,” she said, sharp as a knife despite her old age.

“Uh,” the guy stumbled awkwardly, at a loss.

“We apologise, ma’am,” another voice suddenly cut in, firm but polite. “We’re simply doing our jobs.” 

Jongho quickly looked out through his peephole again, noting the newcomer coming to stand beside the first man. The woman bowed deeply, a hand snagging the man on her way down and forcing him along. When she rose back up, Jongho didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered on his door before snapping back to Grandma Lee.

“Well, do your jobs quieter,” Grandma Lee huffed.

“Of course, ma’am,” the woman said, the smile evident through her voice.

But then she froze, voice dipping low enough Jongho had to strain himself to hear properly.

“However, your insistence of his innocence comes across as a little suspicious unfortunately,” she said, tone turning deadly.

Jongho watched as a hand trailed to where her concealed gun would be, the movement telegraphing her intentions loud and clear. Dread pooled in his gut as his stomach bottomed out.

“Especially when I know that he’s been listening in on us this whole time.”

Eyes widening, Jongho barely had time to fling himself away from the door as he lunged across the room for the table.

A bang went off, deafening in the cramped space, as the agent shot out his door knob. It was followed by a vicious crack as his door was kicked in.

Jongho grabbed his table, gritting his teeth as he flipped it just in time to avoid the tranquilizer darts. They sunk into the thick wood with dull thuds, three of them in quick succession. He was dimly aware of someone screaming but right now he couldn’t let it distract him as he heaved the table, picking it up to swing at the intruders.

It struck home, smashing into the man’s shoulder as he charged Jongho. There was a sickening crunch before he went down with a pained yell. Jongho kicked his gun away from him before kicking him across the jaw. He slumped into a boneless heap, knocked out cold.

The woman had jumped back, her hand going to her earpiece as she tracked Jongho with cold eyes.

_Fucking fuck._

“Room 805. Hurry,” she snapped, firing at him without preamble as she kicked the door shut behind her.

Jongho dived aside into the kitchenette area, hissing when the move pulled at his side. He grabbed a pan, barely avoiding another tranq as he yanked it down to him.

“Stand down and you’ll live,” the woman told him, eliciting a harsh scoff from him. “We have the place surrounded. Even a Meta as strong as you couldn’t hold them all off.”

Another tranq whizzed past, too close for comfort. The audacity of these assholes.

Jongho tightened his grip around his pan, poking it out for a second before pulling it back down. As expected, a tranq ricocheted off the counter where it had been. Waiting with bated breath, Jongho kept his ears peeled for the tell-tale click of a magazine being replaced.

_There it was._

He shoved himself to his feet, arm drawing back to launch the pan at the woman. It smacked into her hand with a dull thunk, hitting the gun and sending it skittering away as she cried out, knocked off kilter.

Jongho wasted no time, rushing her as he kicked out at her chest. She went flying, slamming into his wall as her head bounced painfully. Staggering, she clutched at the wall to regain her balance. She threw a punch, Jongho dodging neatly as he grabbed her arm with one hand while the other wrapped around her throat.

Squeezing tightly, he pulled her close to him, catching the way her eyes widened large enough to show off the whites, before slamming her head back against the wall. Jongho didn’t watch as her head cracked against it, releasing her body quickly as it went limp and slid down to the floor.

Sidestepping her, Jongho made for his bedroom, barely taking a step when a shrill bell went off, the fire alarm echoing loud and clear. Jongho winced against the sudden noise, failing to register the movement in his periphery until it was a split second too late.

Something slammed into him from the side, quick and heavy. The man grunted as he wrapped his one good arm around Jongho, tackling him.

They slammed into the couch, Jongho choking on a pained cry when pain lanced up his side, his ribs taking the brunt of the impact. They fell to the floor with a flurry of movement and pained grunts, limbs a tangled mess as they grappled for the upper hand.

The agent shoved his elbow into Jongho’s side, digging viciously as Jongho screamed.

Pressure was building in him, unpleasant and too warm as his body greedily absorbed the impact of the hits. Jongho shoved his pain aside, clenching his jaw with the effort to focus while fending off the other man.

Jongho recovered quickly, grabbing at the agent’s injured shoulder. He gritted his teeth against the raw yell it elicited, tightening his hold as the man bucked up. Clamping down tight, Jongho used the distraction to flip them, straddling the man as he delivered a series of punches until he finally stopped moving.

Exhaling shakily, Jongho pushed himself up to stand, using the couch to steady himself as he made for the bedroom. His sides were killing him and the pressure was mounting in him, begging for release. He forced himself to just breathe as he shoved a hat on and slipped into a black jacket, hissing at the simple movement when it pulled at his freshly cracked ribs.

He wanted nothing more than to just take a breather _god damn it_ but there was no time. Grabbing his backpack, Jongho made for the front door.

He could see some of his neighbours spilling out into the hallway, curious and wary when the fire alarm didn’t stop. The stairwell was so close; it was right there. He’d chosen this apartment specifically because of it. 

But then he caught sight of an unconscious Grandma Lee lying sprawled out in the hallway in front of her apartment. His heart skipped a beat when he saw another neighbour try to shake her awake - to no avail. He took a half-step towards her, wanting to check for himself but something shifted in his peripheral, drawing his attention away.

Movement, sharp and purposeful, caught his eye as he looked out at the growing crowd in the hallways as people started making for the stairs.

A man pushed through the flood of people, one hand gripping something by his side. His eyes were trained on Jongho as he shoved his way forward, uncaring. 

“Get her out of here,” Jongho said at the woman hovering over Grandma Lee. 

She hesitated, slightly taken aback, flinching back when he glared at her. 

“Now!” he snapped, making eye contact with another man standing next to her.

He didn’t have time to push for anything else, looking back up at the encroaching Psy-Ops agent. There was a brief moment where the space between them cleared, their eyes meeting. 

Jongho’s eyes widened as he saw the gun come up, the man firing twice.

Chaos erupted, screams joining the overwhelming cacophony as people tried to flee the gunman. 

Grunting, Jongho held out a hand, the bullets pausing in mid-air as his hand shook with the effort. Energy shot through his body, sharp and hot, as the bullets fell to the ground, tinkling uselessly. Jongho stumbled into the wall, hissing under his breath, as he tried to control the pressure growing in his chest.

It was ballooning, a heavy weight pressing down on his organs, screaming to be let loose. His skin prickled with heat, sweat trickling down his forehead as he reigned it in. He couldn’t let it out. Not like this. Not when half the building was flooding the hallways.

Jongho was dimly aware of Grandma Lee’s gaudy pink patterned sweater disappearing down the perpendicular hallway as the young couple carried her away with them. _Thank fuck_. 

The agent had paused, faltering slightly as shock and fear flickered across his face before his resolve hardened. Jongho faintly wondered if he was as dumb as he looked.

Ignoring the sense of deja vu, he flipped the table on its side again, ducking behind it as the man emptied the clip. Holding his hands against the thick wood, Jongho hissed as he absorbed the force of the bullets, keeping them from piercing him. He could hear heavy boots drawing closer, the man pressing his advance as he kept him pinned.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jongho inhaled shakily, tapping into the overwhelming pressure threatening to burst out of his chest. It responded eagerly, white hot and sharp, as Jongho wrangled it into something smaller and manageable, biting a small chunk off to work with.

A second later, Jongho’s eyes flew open as he stood up, glowing fist directed at the agent. Exhaling with the movement, Jongho unclenched his hand, letting out a small burst of the energy that had been accumulating within him.

It exploded outward, colouring the air with a brilliant haze of oranges and reds as it singed everything in its path. It slammed into the agent, sending him flying backwards with a choked off yell. He landed halfway across the hallway with a dull thud, slightly smoking and no longer moving.

Shuddering with the effort to contain the energy screaming to be released, Jongho clutched at the broken table, leaning against the wall as he forced himself to simply breathe. He had to focus, had to restrain himself no matter how easy it would be to just let go. He couldn't lose control, not even if his ribs creaked and his muscles cried out with how tightly he was holding himself. He had to-

“ _Holy shit_ ,” someone exclaimed from the hallway.

Jongho rounded on their direction, heart dropping when he saw two more men. His hands were still glowing, bright and dangerous, as he held them up in their direction.

“Fuck off if you don’t want to end up like him,” he spat out, voice rough with pain and exhaustion. 

He was one wrong hit away from exploding, the energy coiling under his skin reacting to the danger running rampant in his surroundings. His head was starting to pound from the effort of keeping it leashed, his insides burning with the heat. His skin was prickling, his clothes starting to stick with sweat. He was a hair trigger away from leveling his entire apartment and who knew what else. _Fuck_ he needed to get away.

The two masked men held their hands up in a placating gesture, the taller one stepping up to surreptitiously hide the smaller one behind him.

“We don’t want to hurt you. We just wanna help,” he said slowly.

Jongho laughed bitterly, the sound cold and harsh, as he smiled sardonically at them. _What a fucking joke._

“‘Help’?” he repeated, the smile sliding off his face so fast he saw the smaller man twitch a little. “You mean ‘cure’ me, right? Yeah, no thanks.” 

His hands glowed brighter, the threat clear as the air started to hum in that strange way he’d grown accustomed to.

“Now get the fuck out of my way,” he snarled. He didn’t have time for this.

“We’re like you,” the second man cut in, stepping out from behind his companion.

Jongho rounded on him, dark eyes boring into the masked man’s face. 

“We’re Metahumans too,” he clarified, clearing his throat nervously when Jongho didn’t seem keen on relenting.

He nudged the other man, quietly muttering, “Do your thing, Sparky Boy.”

Jongho watched warily as the other man held out a hand. Then bright sparks skittered across his skin, a faint buzz filling the air as Jongho’s eyes widened slightly. The bright blue tendrils of light continued to dance along the man’s hand, across his palm and along his fingers, before he clenched his fist and snuffed them out.

“We just want to help you,” the taller man repeated, taking a hesitant step forward.

Jongho instinctively backed away, distrust rooted too deeply in his soul for a simple light show to erase. Despite his inner turmoil, his fighting stance never slipped. His mind was going a mile a minute, sprinting through the possible outcomes as he debated trusting them or not. He wanted so hard to hope, but that small part of him was terrified and it still reigned supreme: especially after what happened to his mom-

“What happened to your mom?” the second man blurted out, eyes widening behind strands of blond hair when he realised what he’d just said.

“What the _fuck_ ?” Jongho hissed, taking an aborted step forward. _How the fuck?!_

Reacting automatically, the first man pulled his friend back behind him, expression pinched as he tried to stop the situation from snowballing. It kinda already had to be honest.

“There’s no time,” he said, firm as he stared Jongho down. Something flashed in his eyes, too fast for Jongho to catch. “Listen. It’s either us or-”

Then two things happened in quick succession.

The second man suddenly froze, eyes widening as he grabbed at his companion’s arm. 

Jongho caught a glint of something flying down the corridor towards them.

It landed a few feet away, bouncing once before going off.

A bright flash blinded him, a loud bang sending his ears ringing, leaving him momentarily stunned. He couldn’t see anything but dark smudges and white spots for a few seconds as he stumbled into a wall. His hearing was shot to hell, everything sounding muffled and far away as he choked on acrid smoke.

Someone was yelling, the sound faint and warbling, but he couldn’t make anything out - just that he was fucked up and surrounded by people who could fuck him up even more.

The following bangs barely registered to him as he tried desperately to just _get away_.

He sensed the first bullet before he could see it, his body automatically absorbing its kinetic energy before it could strike him.

Like a pressurized cooker near blowing, his body couldn’t contain everything it had been accumulating.

It was too much for him.

Jongho screamed, falling to his knees as pure energy exploded out of him in a blinding burst of red and orange. The humming was so loud, the air practically vibrating with it, as heat poured off of him in waves. It scorched everything in its path, leveling his apartment and the corridor beyond. The building shook, cracks forming along the walls, ceilings and floors, as power pulsed through its old bones.

Screams filled the air but Jongho could barely hear them over the rushing in his ears.

A few long moments passed before everything was spent and the world went quiet, deafening silence descending for a horrible moment.

Jongho slumped to the ground, just barely managing to catch himself, as he stared out with wide eyes at the havoc he’d wreaked.

Guilt and fear curdled in his stomach as he pushed himself to stand on shaky knees. Forcing the rising bile back down, Jongho staggered across the creaking and groaning floor, dodging falling bits of ceiling. The building was going to come down any second around them. As exhausted as he was, Jongho knew he had to keep on going somehow, to push forward and _survive_.

The two metahumans were sprawled out in the hallway perpendicular to his apartment, relatively untouched despite the blast. Jongho didn’t know why he paused to wait for any signs of life - he was wasting time god damn it. But his legs remained rooted to the spot, the anxiety clawing at his chest only easing somewhat when he saw the taller man start to stir. 

He coughed weakly, eyelids fluttering softly as he slowly came to.

Satisfied, Jongho turned his back on them and disappeared down the stairwell. He was wheezing by the time he emerged on the ground floor, gripping at the railing a little too tightly as a firefighter escorted him out. The crowd of residents evacuating the burning building was all too easy to slip away with, providing the perfect chaotic mess needed for Jongho to make his escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed that c:  
> Please do leave a kudos and comment if you did! I'd love to know your thoughts! Pretty please :c
> 
> I'm sorry Jongho bb :c You're just really whumpable sometimes. I love writing his power; it really grinds my gears trying to figure out how it all works.  
> Anyone wanna guess what the other members' powers are gonna be?
> 
> You ever just get really self conscious while writing like my mind straight up blanked out and forgot how to describe the way eyes look when you smile wow. Also you may be wondering why there are so many single-sentence lines instead of paragraphs? Jokes on you I struggle to read large blocks of writing rip.
> 
> Hit me up on twitter if you want: @Black_Ranger98


	2. Makings of a Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt is afoot. Hongjoong tries desperately to find the elusive Meta before others can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for waiting so patiently for the second chapter!
> 
> I ran into some computer troubles unfortunately.  
> I also hit a bit of writer's block but then ended up writing a chapter that was too long and indigestible. So I had to edit and reformat that into two separate chapters so hopefully the third chapter should be up ~real~ soon!
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy!

“What the _hell_ happened?” Hongjoong demanded as soon as he stepped foot into the recovery room, going off instinct and following the clamour to find where the other members of their ragtag group had gone off to.

Sure enough there were all present, clustered around the trio he’d sent out to investigate, hovering over them with palpable curiosity and concern.

The sound levels dropped considerably with his dramatic entrance, Yunho and Yeosang not quite able to meet his gaze when he honed in on them, immediately spotting the blood. Sharp eyes scanned the two – or what he could see of them from behind Seonghwa –, noting the faint bruises (that would be worse tomorrow no doubt) and sluggishly weeping cuts: just surface wounds and shallow ones at that. A quick glance at San revealed him to be fine, untouched save for some dust and dirt staining his hair and clothes. 

Hongjoong’s heartbeat slowed down a little at the thought, worry evaporating slightly now that he had his own visual confirmation that no one was dead, maimed, or missing. But then the frustration rose to fill the empty space, coming back in full force as he rounded on his oldest friend.

“Yunho.” 

He tried not to snap. He really did. But judging by the way the man in question jerked at his voice, he had failed miserably.

Seonghwa paused in the middle of wiping at Yunho’s bleeding forehead, gently pressing some gauze to the cut, as he turned around. Golden eyes flashed as they met Hongjoong’s, disapproval clear in the furrow between his brows.

“They did their best, Hongjoong,” he said, firm but not unkind. “You sent them out there for recon. None of us expected it to turn into an extraction.”

That is true but _fuck_ Hongjoong hadn’t expected to return to news of a building going up in fucking flames in downtown Seoul next to a Psy-Ops crime scene. The media was having a fucking field day, but thankfully someone had put it down to a faulty gas line, distracting everyone as netizens descended like vultures on the construction company and landlord, demanding accountability. It gave them some time, not much, but enough to scramble the resources needed for the renewed witch hunt brewing on the horizon – sparked on by the recent Psy-Ops deaths no doubt.

“I asked for stealth. _This_ ,” he held up his phone, clutched tight in his hand, to show the live news coverage of the smouldering building, “doesn’t look like stealth.”

Yeosang twitched, hands twisting nervously in his lap, as he watched the video for a split second, lips mouthing along to the news that all of the residents had successfully evacuated before looking away. Wooyoung’s hands on his shoulders tightened slightly, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into his friend’s back. Yunho watched the video with a grim expression, one hand lightly gripping Yeosang’s leg.

Seonghwa’s own face hardened as he looked from the screen to Hongjoong, the harsh lines practically screaming their displeasure at him. Light rippled across his scales as they shifted slightly, iridescent and hypnotic, as was wont to happen when he was particularly emotional. Sure, the situation had snowballed and turned into an absolute shitshow but he didn’t understand the point of shoving their failure back into their faces like this.

Hongjoong sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose to stave off the all too familiar ache starting to pulse behind his eyes.

“I’m sorry. You’re right,” he said slowly, forcing himself to calm down. “It’s just-” 

How could he explain the precariousness of their current situation without making them feel worse than they already did? They were just one Meta resistance cell in their neck of the woods and the crime scene had come under their jurisdiction which is why Hongjoong had asked them to look into it.

But now? They would have to prepare for an influx of Metas forced into fleeing on top of rescuing the ones who would be hunted down for a murder they didn’t participate in. Anyone suspected of being a Meta or a Meta sympathizer would be branded with the same indiscriminate mark: criminal. 

Shit was already hard enough as is, what with them being situated in South Korea - hell on earth for their kind. But Hongjoong could practically hear the pitchforks being sharpened as they spoke. Psy-Ops was just biding their time to pounce on a chance like this. 

Psy-Ops were a vengeful bunch and they would not take to this lightly. Fucking assholes were just itching for any excuse to wipe out more Metas. Anyone who stood in their way would be removed or made an example of. They didn’t fucking _care_. 

And now they might have just handed them the perfect excuse to declare outright war - all on a fucking silver platter.

_God fucking damn it all to hell._ He had well and truly fumbled the ball with this one huh. Hongjoong’s eye pulsed painfully with an oncoming migraine as he pulled a face at the logistics nightmare he was facing.

“That protest for Meta rights is happening soon,” Mingi spoke up from where he had been diligently taping up the cut on Yeosang’s cheek, voice subdued as he made the connection before Hongjoong could do it for them. 

“They could use this against us, right?” he said, eyes solemn as he went back to gently wiping away the crusted blood on Yeosang’s face.

Meta rights and lives hinged on protests such as these, and this situation could very well be the catalyst to a whole new wave of fear mongering and anti-Meta campaigning. It would be the perfect fuel to stoke the flames even higher. While government policies and agencies treated Metas like shit under their heels, there was still some pushback from the people, from those who were open minded and accepting enough to fight for them. 

However, all it took was the right smear campaign and just the right spin on a situation to turn it bad; Hongjoong knew all too well how quickly things could take a turn for the worst. Opinions were easily swayed and people didn’t like anything that was different from them.

Wooyoung mumbled a curse under his breath, groaning out loud. “They’d use anything against us. They’re literally hunting us down just for being alive,” he grumbled, squeezing Yeosang’s shoulders.

“Yes, which is why attracting any unnecessary attention really isn’t what we need right now,” Hongjoong sighed, contemplating if a nap or a double espresso shot coffee would take the edge off of his impending headache. Water and some fresh air were probably best, but fuck it he had shit to do.

“It wasn’t our fault,” Yunho said quietly, meeting his eyes for the first time since he’d walked into the room. “The Meta -” he trailed off slightly, as if searching for the right words, “he’s strong. He was the one who caused the explosion. By the time we got to him, he had already taken out a few agents.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrow jumped at that, frowning at the new information. A lone Meta who happened to be found just down the street from the killings; one that could hold their own against Psy-Ops at that; all on top of having an ability strong enough to blow up a building. Just what the hell was going on downtown?

“Judging by what I saw of the bodies,” Yeosang said, fingers picking mindlessly at his pants while his eyes darted from Hongjoong to a far off point in the distance before going back to his legs again, “he was probably involved with the hit on the Psy-Ops squad.”

Hongjoong glanced quickly at Seonghwa, catching the shocked look in his eyes as they traded a loaded look before it morphed into growing concern. The tiniest sliver of pink darted out as Seonghwa wet his lip nervously. 

This… did not look good for them. With each new reveal, more and more questions were cropping up like some ridiculous game of whack a mole.

“Yeosang,” Seonghwa said, motioning for Yunho to hold the gauze to his head himself for a bit before holding his hand out to Yeosang, “do you mind showing me and Hongjoong?”

Yeosang’s eyes darted up to meet Seonghwa’s encouraging look. He glanced between them, something flitting across his face before the resolve hardened as he nodded sharply. Hongjoong stepped up, sitting down on the cot next to Seonghwa and holding out his arm as well. Inhaling deep, Yeosang reached out to grasp both of their wrists, closing his eyes as he focused.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa followed suit, both twitching slightly as Yeosang’s mind reached out to theirs. They’d done this before but it never got any easier to accept the feeling of another mind encroaching on your own no matter how gentle the telepath was. Exhaling forcefully, Hongjoong tried to relax as he violently subdued his instinctual urge to fight against the link, knowing it wouldn’t help anyone if he made it difficult for their minds to meld.

They were thrust into Yeosang’s point of view as he recounted the events from earlier. It felt slightly nauseating, like getting on a roller coaster ride and trying to focus on individual objects and colours as they all flew past in a dizzying blur. 

_There were the bodies seen through the eyes of a forensic technician as they catalogued the scene. Singe marks and mottled bruising depicting blunt force trauma littered the bodies, the wounds stark against pale skin. Tension and anxiety permeated the air, the Psy-Ops agents buzzing with the fear over whether this was a one-off chance or a targeted hit as they examined their own. They barely glanced at the murdered Meta, simply marking her down as ‘Eliminated’ and tagging her body for later examination, before going back to agonizing over the broken bodies of their colleagues._

_Then the scene shifted sharply, like someone scrubbing through a video to skip to the good parts._

_A voice rang out, scared and alone as the Meta cried out, unknowingly calling Yeosang to him like a magnet pointing north. The phantom sensation of trepidation spread all over as Yeosang and Yunho hurried to find him, scouring the building floors._

_Then gunshots went off, echoing loudly and alerting them to the Meta’s exact location._

_Psy-Ops was a step ahead of them. Yeosang’s stomach plummeted with the fear that they were too late._

_They burst out on the right floor just as a body went sailing past them, bearing the same marks as the other dead bodies from before._

_The culprit was surprisingly young, eyes wide and scared as they focused on Yeosang and Yunho, before they quickly narrowed in distrust. The Meta’s fear was palpable, his thoughts practically tripping over themselves in their haste as his paranoia clung to him, swallowing him whole and clouding his judgment. Yunho and Yeosang still tried to convince him though – Yunho with half a mind ready to drag him out whether he liked it or not._

_But then Yeosang picked up on the Psy-Ops agents lurking around the corner._

_The air was punched from his lungs as he tackled Yunho to safety, rolling to a stop in an adjacent corridor just as the flash bang went off. Ringing pierced the air, shrill and painful, as Yeosang’s hearing descended into a muted mess. Yunho’s lips were moving soundlessly as he pulled him to his feet but Yeosang could still hear the other’s thoughts. It left his mind more than a little scrambled as Yunho communicated his intent to try and help the Meta, telling Yeosang to be on standby._

_Yunho stepped forward, arms starting to glow a bright blue as electricity crackled through them._

_But then someone shot at the Meta as he stumbled around, blind._

_Horror swept through Yeosang as he watched the wave of red and orange explode outward from the Meta._

_The wall of heat slammed into Yunho, sending him flying backwards into him. Catching the man, Yeosang wrapped his arms around him as he desperately threw up a barrier around them as they tumbled to the ground. He managed to get it up just in time. Grunting, he grit his teeth as the blast bore down on them, shockwave after shockwave sending tremors throughout him as he tried to protect an unconscious Yunho lying crumpled in his arms._

_Blinking blearily at the sea of fire washing over everything, Yeosang watched in fear as the ceiling cracked overhead. Curling around Yunho, Yeosang’s last thought was cursing the other man’s ridiculously tall stature as the ceiling crumbled down on them and his world went dark._

Hongjoong winced when Yeosang abruptly withdrew from his mind, the hand on his falling away as the telepath retracted his grip. He settled back onto his own cot, hands coming to rest on his lap once again as his gaze darted between Hongjoong and Seonghwa. 

“I see what you meant by ‘strong’,” Hongjoong said, mentally replaying the blast in his head. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his hand coming up to pinch at his nose again as his mind contemplated the possibilities and worst case scenarios.

Beside him, Seonghwa nodded, humming thoughtfully as he too examined what they’d just been shown.

“It does seem to match the bodies,” Seonghwa said, recalling the first agent Yeosang and Yunho had come across as he was getting thrown across the hallway, comparing the similarities between his wounds and the other bodies.

“So what he’s just going around picking fights with Psy-Ops just because he can?” San asked incredulously. “Is he suicidal or just stupid?”

“Neither,” Yeosang shot back. “When I was in his head, all I could hear was how scared he was. It wasn’t planned. Shit just got out of hand.”

Hongjoong made a small gesture showing he agreed with the deduction. He’d seen Metas of all kinds in this line of work. He recognised the look in the kid’s eyes (because that’s just what he was god damn it). His behaviour and posturing practically screamed that he’d been backed into a corner and he’d just come up swinging to try and not die. He couldn’t help but relate to the feeling all too well. 

Going off what little they currently knew, Hongjoong surmised that the Meta had come across the hit squad and simply tried to defend himself. Judging by what Yeosang had heard, he hadn’t meant to kill anyone and had been trying to run when Psy-Ops found him in his apartment. But just what were the odds of it all?

“There’s been no mention of the murders on any news outlets,” Seonghwa mused, thinking out loud as his finger grazed against his jaw, going back and forth. “The fire coverage was out of their control because it was too visible.”

His finger paused in its track, the distant look in his eyes fading as he looked to Hongjoong. “They might be biding their time. We have to tread carefully.”

Hongjoong nodded, looking around to meet everyone’s eyes in equal measure as he tried to drive home the severity of the situation.

“Finding him is a top priority but be on standby for Extraction and Rescue. There’s going to be a crackdown soon and we have to be ready to jump in whenever and wherever we’re needed.”

They wouldn’t be able to save everyone unfortunately. They all knew this. Hongjoong could see it in shuttering eyes and closed off expressions. No matter how hard they tried or how much they pushed themselves, they were just one small cell trying their best to survive against a bloodthirsty force with government resources at their disposal, hellbent on squashing them out. 

They were one small part of a larger network that aimed to help Metas in need: the Underground. Their particular cell specialised in getting Metas out, operating as a checkpoint of sorts as they helped them get to other groups closer to the borders that would get them relocated.

But people still fell through the cracks as Psy-Ops got to them first or they were poached off by traffickers or other extremist groups who were always eager to add to their numbers. 

Some Metas had simply lost too much. Hopelessness and fear could be so easily stoked into blinding anger: anger that could be weaponised if left to stew and fester in the dark for too long.

Hongjoong couldn’t fault them for succumbing, for wanting a taste of the strength and power to fight back after living a half life in the shadows, always looking over their shoulder. Extremist groups knew that and they offered acceptance and a chance at retribution.

Hongjoong’s brow furrowed even deeper as he thought about the allure of a Meta with such a destructive power. Psy-Ops would be itching to get their hands on his DNA to try and replicate his powers no doubt. They’d dissect him and drain him of every single last useful drop they could squeeze out of him before discarding him. Death would be a kinder fate at that point so letting Psy-Ops get to the kid first was absolutely out of the question. Not that it had ever been obviously.

However, he had a growing feeling that it wouldn’t just be Psy-Ops vying for the kid and his ability.

Sighing, Hongjoong reached out to pat Yunho and Yeosang on their legs before rising and patting San on his shoulder as he passed by on his way to the door.

“Good job on not dying,” he said brusquely, breathing a little easier when he saw Yeosang’s shoulders drop from where they’d been steadily climbing up towards his ears. He absolutely did not look at Seonghwa’s small smile, soft and approving, as he continued.

“Get some rest. We have a long week ahead.”

_God_ his back was already starting to twinge at the thought of the extra hours they’d be putting in to scramble against Psy-Ops and their never ending numbers. _Like goddamn cockroaches._ Other jobs provided extra pay for overtime but not in this line of work. Oh _no_. They were just rewarded with even more bullets and the ever present threat of death or capture looming overhead like some sickening axe that inched closer to their necks with each mission they took on.

Hongjoong wondered sometimes why the others hadn’t asked to leave the country yet in search of greener pastures but apparently they felt loyal to him - or as Seonghwa had told him. _Idiots._ But _his_ idiots.

“Don’t worry too much about the Meta,” he said, letting them know he wasn’t mad - even if he had come off as that earlier. 

Hongjoong didn’t process emotions very well, especially worry for the teammates he’d grown to see as family; concern for their well being tended to come off as anger, and yes he knew it was a shortcoming on his part – thank you very much. He was working on it. It just got a little difficult sometimes – like today when he’d found out they were in a building as it was getting blown the fuck up.

So yeah forgive him for slipping sometimes.

“I’ll handle it,” he told them before disappearing down the hallway. 

He had a few phone calls to make and after all, how hard could it be to find one lone Meta in Seoul with all of its CCTV-monitored glory?

**~*~*~*~*~*~**

The answer was “quite hard” apparently, much to Hongjoong’s growing frustration.

“God _fucking_ damn,” he muttered, sipping at his coffee as he surreptitiously kept an eye out while making his way through the twists and turns of the neighbourhood he was in.

Two weeks. They’d been at it for _two whole weeks_ and they’d still found neither hide nor hair of their elusive Meta.

What little information they had on him circulated his mind on a broken loop with no lead in sight. The case file he’d compiled (with Mingi’s help) sat back at home on the edge of his desk, taunting him with its scant material. Groaning, he raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he mentally went over the Meta’s case _again_.

He’d been living at the apartment building for two years but there had been no usable footage whatsoever. He avoided any and all cameras like the fucking plague, hiding behind hoodies, masks, and hats even if he were caught on any. The lease was signed under a ‘Kim Seojoon’ (the Meta’s supposed older brother) but some digging revealed that the picture and identity didn’t match up. The picture was of someone who had been dead for years while the ID number belonged to some poor old woman in Jeju for fuck’s sake. But the rent had been consistent and the landlord didn’t look too closely into his tenants: so long as they paid on time and didn’t cause any trouble.

He’d worked odd jobs such as construction and delivery but hadn’t bothered to make friends with any of his colleagues. His neighbours barely knew him, save for his next door neighbour apparently, an old woman that was well known for knowing the goings-on of the neighbourhood. 

However, she’d clamped up tight when Seonghwa had paid a visit while disguised as a Psy-Ops agent. It had ended with her almost throwing dog shit at the poor man, telling him in very clear terms where he and his “colleagues” should shove their questions. She’d also told him where she’d shove her foot if they didn’t stop harassing her. Hongjoong almost wishes he’d been there to witness it because everyone always _adored_ Seonghwa, especially children and the elderly, and the look of horror in his eyes as he’d recounted the disastrous conversation had had them all howling.

He had snooped into the employment records obviously and stolen the files, going straight for the passport photos they asked for. The face he’d come across was unlike the one he’d seen in Yeosang’s memories. The eyes were the same but the bottom half of his face had been professionally edited, a large scar running across his cheek and twisting his mouth downward. They’d also tweaked other features so if anyone tried to find him off the pictures alone, they were fucked basically. 

His co-workers had all mentioned that the Meta would always keep a facemask on no matter what, citing the scar as the reason because he was self-conscious about it. They’d left well enough alone but it also meant that if questioned, none of them actually knew what “Kim Jongin” looked like.

Hours of digging into the mysterious “Kim Jongin” - which just stank of an alias to Hongjoong - on top of them trying to do their goddamn jobs in the Underground, kept turning up nothing but dead ends. At the end of the day, the recurring theme concerning their Meta was that he was “nice and quiet, but the forgettable sort”.

They were chasing a ghost, one with a body count and an explosion under their belt.

Hongjoong would almost be impressed if he wasn’t so fucking annoyed.

However, even ghosts couldn’t disappear just like that. Everyone needed _some_ help, especially in today’s modern world of hyper surveillance. 

So that was the lead he was currently chasing down at the moment, at nine in the morning in the early winter chill.

Sighing, he tossed his empty cup into a nearby bin before tugging open the door to an old computer service store, body relaxing slightly now that he was finally out of the cold. 

The tinkling of the bell alerted the lone employee in the shop. The man quickly set aside the laptop he was working on, brushing a hand through his hair as he lifted his head to look up at Hongjoong.

“Welcome. How can I help-” he paused midway through his greeting, eyes widening when he spotted the card Hongjoong held up between his fingers: a sleek black calling card only few had access to.

“Hello, Seo,” Hongjoong said easily, breezing past the other’s shock as he slipped the card back into his pocket. “I need a _favour_.”

He scanned the man before him, giving him a once over as he finally put a face to the name.

Seo blinked once, hands twitching slightly at his real surname. Only close friends and acquaintances knew it and Hongjoong was neither. 

Known to most as SpearB, the man was infamous online for his excellent hacking and forgery skills. He was the one you went to if you had secrets that needed to be buried or even dug up. His services were highly sought after but he kept it strictly on a case by case basis: if he didn’t like you or he simply didn’t care, no amount of money could sway him to help you. 

Apparently he had some kind of code and didn’t just help out anybody who tried to buy him out. Sure that had pissed off a lot of people, some of the worst names in the criminal underworld and big fish far up in the corruption chain, but anyone who tried to come for him had been burned beyond repair.

You don’t come for the person who could crack your life wide open like a goddamn walnut with a few choice taps on a keyboard, baring all the filth and airing out your dirty laundry for the whole world to see. 

It also didn’t help that he was backed by one of the most notorious gangs in the city. They weren’t exactly part of the Underground - not quite, but Hongjoong had a feeling the new leader was more partial than his old man had been. They had helped out a few times when the Underground had been in a pinch, excelling particularly in disrupting Psy-Ops prisoner transfers from what he’d heard. 

Seo’s wide-eyed expression fell away, replaced by cold professionalism as he snapped out of his momentary shock. He darted out from behind the counter, reaching behind Hongjoong to lock the door and flip the “open” sign to “closed”. He peeked outside, eyes darting around before pulling down the blinds.

“Follow me,” he instructed tersely, inclining his head to the side as he went into a backroom.

Hongjoong had never been before but he knew from what Wooyoung had told him that this is where Seo carried out the business deals for his main hustle, the not so legal stuff. It was a small office, cozy but pointedly impersonal. Seo went around and sat himself down at the desk, gesturing for Hongjoong to take the seat opposite him.

Hongjoong did so, crossing his legs as he met Seo’s gaze head on, catching the way the other man’s eyes went pointedly to the card currently sitting in his breast pocket. The question was clear: _how the fuck do you have that?_

“I’m with Wooyoung,” Hongjoong told him, not surprised when Seo’s eyes narrowed even further, suspicion rolling off of him in waves.

He knew they were friends, Wooyoung always being the one tasked with going to Seo if they were ever in need of his or his crew’s services. But Wooyoung was busy elsewhere for the day so he’d passed on the card to Hongjoong so Seo wouldn’t do something stupid like try to shoot him when he showed up.

But judging by the odd way Seo was holding himself as he sat, too still and tensed as if ready to fight at the drop of a hat, Hongjoong was about 87% sure there was a gun trained on him right this instant from somewhere under the desk. 

Hongjoong sighed. He really didn’t want to have to explain away any more bullet holes to Seonghwa anytime soon.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t hurt him or anything like that. He told me to tell you that I’m ‘chill’,” he pulled a small face at that before continuing his little messenger pigeon act, “and that he’d really appreciate it if you didn’t try to put a bullet in my skull.” Seo’s eyebrow twitched at that so now Hongjoong was about 204% sure there was a gun under that table. “Oh and that if you’re nice to me he’ll buy you all the fries you could ever want.”

He absolutely refused to do the stupid wink and finger heart Wooyoung had told him to follow up with (“to sweeten the deal, Hongjoong!”).

Seo huffed at that, lips twitching into a small smile as he relaxed somewhat.

“Yeah, alright,” he relented, leaning back into his seat and putting both hands on his lap, pointedly free from any guns. “He texted me earlier to tell me you would swing by.”

“Then why the fuck did you go for the gun?” Hongjoong asked, frowning.

“Can never be too careful,” Seo said, completely blasé as he shrugged.

Hongjoong couldn’t help but agree so he just reached into his coat pocket, moving slowly and deliberately to telegraph the movement lest he scare the man - again. He pulled out the rough sketch he’d done of Kim Jongin, placing it on the desk and sliding it across the surface towards Seo.

“Do you know him?” he asked, not wasting anymore time beating around the bush.

He watched carefully, sharp eyes picking up on the way Seo’s brow furrowed as he unfolded the paper. Surprise flitted across his face, sharp and quick before he schooled his features into bland disinterest. 

But Hongjoong had caught on anyway.

“So you do know him,” Hongjoong said, interjecting quickly before Seo could try and lie his way out. _There was no fucking time to dick about right now._

Seo frowned at him, expression shuttering as he realised the futility in pleading plausible deniability. If it had just been a simple information trade, he’d have already set his price, but he hadn’t which meant that he’d done business with Kim. He glanced back down at the sketch before sliding it back to Hongjoong.

“I don’t talk about my clients.” _And there it was._ “You know that,” he said, firm and stubborn.

Hongjoong _did_ know in fact. It’s what made SpearB so renowned and respected in the underworld: his unflappable morals. As thankful as Hongjoong was that the man had basic decency and then some because he shuddered to think about what he was capable of without a conscience, he also really needed the information he’d come to get. 

He wasn’t leaving until he got it.

“Wooyoung’s favour,” Hongjoong said, evoking his trump card - maybe a little too early but whatever, he didn’t have time to play games. “I’m cashing it in.”

Seo gave him an incredulous look. “What makes you think it’s transferable to other people??”

“When Kim Jongin jumped up the most wanted list within a day because he got involved in some Psy-Ops bullshit and if they get their hands on him first we’re all so very _very_ fucked,” Hongjoong snapped.

Seo blinked in surprise at the outburst, as if unsure of how to react to _that_.

Sighing, Hongjoong took a deep breath to calm himself before he tried once again to reason with the hacker.

“Look. We’re just trying to help him before he becomes Psy-Ops’ next chew toy.”

Seo went quiet, expression turning contemplative. “So he’s a Meta then,” he clarified out loud before deflating a little, the tense set to his jaw melting away as he sighed.

“I helped him out with some papers a while ago.” _Check and mate._

Hongjoong wasn’t very surprised at that. Very few people could have given Kim Jongin the right tools possible to live such a seamless double life, hidden in plain sight among ordinary humans. The so-called snake among the grass.

If he hadn’t run afoul of the Psy-Ops squad, Hongjoong faintly wondered if Kim Jongin could have continued on living his fake life.

“Jongin said he was escaping an abusive situation and needed help,” Seo told him, lips tugging downward into a frown as he examined what Jongin had told him, parsing through the half-truths and fabricated lies. 

“I don’t rat out my clients, survivors even more so,” he said simply, shrugging.

_That_ was a bit of a surprise. But then again, Hongjoong had heard the whispers. 

It was a lesser known secret, closely guarded and rarely shared, that SpearB would help out abuse survivors for little to no charge, accepting money only if they absolutely insisted. Even then, the money would wind up in the person’s freshly minted bank account as a “holiday bonus”.

“Has he contacted you in the past two weeks?”

Kim would need new papers, ID and maybe even a passport if he wanted to keep hiding.

“Not exactly,” Seo replied, a small frown appearing on his face as he eyed the sketch once more. “But you haven’t been the only one asking about him.”

That got Hongjoong’s whole attention real fucking fast. Goosebumps prickled at his skin, dread starting to churn in his gut, as he narrowed his eyes at Seo.

“Who else?” he demanded, mind already starting to whir at the implication of those words. _Fuck was he too late?_

“It was online,” Seo told him, catching the look in his eyes. “Don’t worry I didn’t tell them anything.”

Despite himself, Hongjoong couldn’t help the relieved exhale, his fists unclenching slightly as he splayed his hands over his thighs, gripping at them to try and release some of the tension. The dread didn’t go away though.

“But yeah, the person said they were a friend but it seemed fishy. When I tried to find out who they were, they stonewalled me. Tried to trace their IP address and all I got was an internet café.”

“Well _fuck_ ,” Hongjoong muttered oh so eloquently.

Psy-Ops wouldn’t stoop so low as to contact a shady hacker to track someone down for them. Not when they had a whole cyber unit ready for this kind of bullshit. _No, no, this had to be somebody else._

“You think it’s The New Wave?” Seo asked, face pinching in worry.

The New Wave: the emerging head of the Meta extremist groups operating in South Korea. While previously extremist groups were scattered and distracted by in-fighting, weakened by a lack of structure and proper leadership, The New Wave ushered in a more efficient operation. 

They established themselves quickly through indiscriminate bloodshed, removing inefficient leaders and grinding the metaphorical boot on their corpses to send a clear message: stand with us or against us. They moved quickly, absorbing smaller groups, providing structure, and leading with an iron grip.

They lived up to their name, striking like an unprecedented tsunami wave. They wouldn’t stop until they would sweep across the land, a wave of bloody retribution that heralded a new age: a new nation where Metas emerged on top.

“Might just be,” Hongjoong said, frowning as he catalogued everything. _God_ he could feel another headache threatening to bloom behind his eyes. 

“Could you give me everything you have on Kim Jongin?”

Seo hesitated, clearly reluctant to share so much about a client, one that obviously needed protection. But then he came around real quick, face hardening as he booted up his laptop and loaded everything onto a USB for Hongjoong to take with him.

“Is this everything?” Hongjoong asked, staring at the tiny nondescript thing in his hand. “Do you have any extra copies?”

“No, that’s all of it.”

Nodding, Hongjoong looked up and flashed him a small grateful smile. 

“Thank you,” he said, carefully placing the USB into a hidden pocket and zipping it up. He patted it through the fabric, double checking it to make sure it was safe. 

“You should probably lay low for a bit,” he offered hesitantly. He felt slightly contrite at the fact that he had gotten Seo more involved than he necessarily had to be.

“Yeah, I just might,” Seo said, pushing the half-forgotten sketch back at Hongjoong, watching as he pocketed it. “Tell Woo you collected. I don’t owe him jack shit.”

Hongjoong snorted at that. Somehow something in his gut told him that wasn’t exactly true. Wooyoung had a gift for worming his way into getting what he wanted.

“I hate to impose-”

“Now why don’t I believe that,” Seo shot back, razor sharp, but he seemed to be smiling.

“You got me there.” Seonghwa and Yunho were always telling him to be nicer, okay, and he’d tried at least. “Ask your crew to keep an eye out for Kim Jongin?”

“Yeah, alright,” Seo sighed, nodding. “I’ll contact you if anything comes up.”

“Thank you.” Hongjoong stood up, Seo mirroring him. “So where’s the back door, Seo?”

Seo showed him out, barely giving him a second glance as Hongjoong slipped away into the neighbourhood backstreets, hunching deeper into his jacket as he headed for his car. He had a few other Meta cells to contact and ask that they look out for a certain Meta now that he finally had a proper picture of Kim Jongin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it!!  
> How was it?? Please do leave a kudos and comment letting me know if you did c:
> 
> Aaaah I loved writing Hongjoong. He's got a difficult past in this fic so he's a bit of a hardass but he loves his little team so very very much. Hongjoong bestest leader lmao. Love writing the team interactions.
> 
> Also lmao I know I know I'm sorry about Jongho's little fake name. I wanted to just go for a common name that no one would blink at lmao.
> 
> I also absolutely love worldbuilding and theorizing how different parts of the puzzle all come together and interact. So we're starting to see bits and pieces of the Underground and other cells will come into play very soon.
> 
> But yes thank you so much for reading and I do hope you enjoyed c:
> 
> P.S: Any guesses on the other members' powers? (. ͡❛ ᴗ ͡❛.)


	3. The Itsy Bitsy Spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Players start stepping onto the board, closing in on Jongho.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone!  
> Have a short(er than the rest) update from me as a gift.  
> As always, I hope you enjoy!  
> Please do leave a kudos and comment if you do ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ

Jongho shoved his hands into his pockets in a vain attempt at staving off the bitter chill as he crossed the street to join the line starting to wind around the building. A volunteer was going down the line, handing out heat packs and blankets to those waiting for the soup kitchen to open. 

There were too many people and not enough supplies unfortunately, so Jongho shook his head when the woman offered him a small heat pack, kind eyes warm as she apologised for the wait.

He gently redirected her to a young girl standing nearby, visibly shivering and teeth chattering audibly as she hugged her arms around herself, blowing into her hands every so often. Her back was hunched awkwardly, something shifting along her shoulder blades under the loose sweatshirt as she tried to hide in plain sight, yellow eyes trained pointedly on the ground.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as the old woman wrapped a blanket around the girl, activating the heat pack and pressing it into her shaking hands. He held his breath as her hands brushed against the girl’s dark claws (blunted and painfully cracked) but she didn’t acknowledge them, her face staying on the same kind expression as she adjusted the blanket. She told her the same thing she’d told Jongho: that the wait wouldn’t be much longer before quietly asking if she wanted someone to have a look at the nasty bruises colouring her skin. 

Jongho quickly glanced away when the girl’s split lip started to wobble, quiet tears spilling from her swollen eyes, as the woman quickly gathered her into her arms and tried to soothe her cries. They walked out of the line, the woman leading her away as they disappeared into the building. There had been no hint of malice or ulterior motive in the protective line of her body as she shepherded the girl away from curious eyes, so Jongho mused that the rumours about this particular soup kitchen being accepting of Metas held some truth. 

He couldn’t help but dimly wonder at the girl’s age as he slowly shuffled forward. She couldn’t have been any older than him when he’d “aged out” of the orphanage and suddenly found himself thrust out into the cold world, alone and afraid. She was probably even younger and wholly unprepared for the situation, judging from her thin clothes and wide eyes. He found himself hoping she got the help he hadn’t been offered all those years ago.

He’d packed in preparation for the cold but no one had predicted the early winter chill encroaching on the city. Even with his heavy coat and gloves on, he could barely feel his fingers as he accepted a hot cup of coffee from another volunteer. He blew softly on it, breath wafting out in visible puffs as he savoured the momentary warmth near his face. 

His stomach grumbled, low and insistent, as the line crawled forward. The money in his backpack burned a hole in his back, calling out a tantalising siren song promising a soft bed and a warm meal he wouldn’t have to wait in the biting cold on swollen feet for. But he couldn’t use it, not when he needed to squeeze every last jeon out of it if he hoped to make it overseas.

He couldn’t fly out of the country, not with the airports watched so closely. On top of that, flights to pro-Meta countries were often subject to extra screenings to sniff out any fleeing Metas: which was such fucking _bullshit_ because why not just let Metas leave if you didn’t want to let them live in your country? But whatever. Apparently, there was also extra security crawling around lately, and he was absolutely 500% sure he was on every wanted list out there. 

He would be so royally _fucked_ if he even tried to go within five kilometres of the airport. Flying out of the country seemed like a pipe dream when he hadn’t even been able to leave the fucking city.

The situation was worsening all around: Psy-Ops cracking down on the city like a vengeful god as they hunted down anyone who even breathed wrong. Jongho could feel the guilt stir anew in his gut, a heavy weight that was his constant companion nowadays as his shoulders curled tighter around him. They hadn’t headlined the news about his involvement in the Psy-Ops deaths and the fire that had decimated his apartment building. 

After what had happened, he’d gone off the grid, hiding out in abandoned construction sites and camping out under bridges - wherever he wouldn’t be seen by any CCTV. He’d check his burner phone every other hour to see if he’d made the news, anxiously scrolling through the headlines to find anything. But three weeks in and nothing. Investigations had concluded that the explosion had been the result of a faulty gas line while there hadn’t even been any mention of the agents or the Meta. It all screamed of a powerful cover up and that just made the paranoia and fear worse.

Jongho doubted that anyone who had seen his face that day had survived the blast, not after being in such close proximity to him. Pushing past the guilt churning in his gut, he racked his brain over the main topic that had been on loop in his head, his thoughts circling the drain as he worried nonstop. 

No one knew his real name - no one alive, at least. He’d taken the necessary measures to bury it under a fake name and an entirely new different identity, going so far as to alter his photos, never showing his real face so no one could try to identify him. But all of that could come crashing down soon if it hadn’t already. All he had done, all the painstaking measures he had gone through to hide himself, could unravel. 

After all, there were still people who had seen him that day and made it through the blast: the two Metas.

He wasn’t sure if they’d gotten out alive after he had fled the scene. A small part of him hoped that they had but he couldn’t be certain. Either the collapsing building had crushed them or Psy-Ops had gotten to them first. Jongho knew which one he would prefer but it was a cruel fate either way.

The thought left his guts a twisted mess, his chest heavy with regret each time it crossed his mind. He couldn’t bear to think too hard about it but it still dogged his every waking moment. It even intruded on his piss poor sleep, accusing stares and wide eyes haunting him as bloody clawed hands reached for him, jolting him awake.

Either they were as good as dead or the miraculous alternative had occured: they had survived and would probably be coming for him too. Jongho didn’t think anyone would take too kindly to having a building dropped down over their heads - even if _they_ were the ones that had distracted him and indirectly kept him there for Psy-Ops to find which had led to the blast. It left him in a weird spot, torn between wishing they were dead so they’d leave him alone and cursing them for surviving because that meant two more people who knew what he looked like.

At the end of the day, all he knew was he had to get out. 

So he’d turned to finding a smuggler out of sheer desperation but nobody was too keen to move so quickly after the incident. They also knew how desperate he and other Metas were so prices had skyrocketed. He had barely managed to cut a deal with the smuggler he’d found, the man demanding half of the payment upfront. It had cost him almost half of his savings, his stomach clenching and his breath hitching at the thought of coming up short if the smuggler demanded more.

But what could he do?

So that’s why he was here in line at a soup kitchen because he couldn’t afford anything else if he wanted to be able to flee the goddamn country. _God he had such abysmal luck._

Time slipped away, turning into a monotonous stream as he shuffled forward every so often, sipping slowly on the too sweet coffee until it cooled (much too quickly) and he downed the last few disgusting dredges. He didn’t have to wait too long though thankfully, stomping lightly on the ground a few times to force some feeling into his frozen legs before he finally made his way indoors. 

His stomach growled loudly as he was greeted with the scent of freshly cooked food. It was so overwhelming he had to remind himself to rein it in when his mouth started to water slightly at the delicious smell. The place was warm and cosy, full of people bustling about, the air humming with soft chatter and gentle laughter. It slipped past his walls, infiltrating and lowering his defences, as he relaxed somewhat for what felt like the first time in eons.

Someone handed him a plate as he made his way down the line of tables loaded with food. He accepted a serving of almost everything, knowing that he could ask for a box to pack up any leftovers if he couldn’t finish it all in one go. He was so stuck on deciding between grabbing an apple or an orange for a treat that he missed the pointed looks being directed at him; the person quickly looked away when he finally decided on the apple and went to find a secluded spot to sit and eat.

He tugged his gloves off with such force, they almost went flying. Stuffing them into his pocket while simultaneously unwrapping his scarf, he started scarfing down on the first proper meal he’d had in days. He could barely taste anything in his haste to just eat as much as he could before his body caught up to him and made him stop. Despite the mind-numbing hunger, he could still tell that it was good food, that it would keep him well fed and warm for some time at least. 

He was halfway through the frantic demolition of his plate when another cup of steaming coffee was set down in front of him.

Startled, he looked up, tracing the line of the tattooed hand and arm, and following it upwards until he reached the face of its owner. He blinked warily at the man as he chuckled quietly, setting aside the tray of drinks he’d been carrying around to hand out to people.

“Slow down there, kid,” the man warned, voice surprisingly deep as he gave Jongho a warm smile. “You’ll choke or get indigestion.”

Jongho flinched back slightly, cheeks burning as he felt the shame rise at how he’d eaten. Had he been so oblivious, so far gone, that he’d missed people staring at him in disgust? He tried to wipe discreetly at his mouth, suddenly worried that he had made a mess.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it,” the man said quickly, expression apologetic. “I just didn’t want you choking on my sweet potatoes or anything like that.”

Jongho inhaled a little too hard at that, some stray food going down the wrong pipe, which resulted in an embarrassing coughing fit.

“Oh shit, I am _so_ sorry,” the man stammered out, flustered as he swiftly pressed a cup of water into Jongho’s hands. 

Jongho was so focused on trying to not die, cursing his traitorous lungs for trying to do him in after everything he’d been through: he didn’t see the odd look passing over the other man’s features before it quickly melted back into concern. He hovered nearby, looking slightly distraught when Jongho held a hand up to keep him away, curling in on himself as he tried to calm his throat.

“Shit, kid you okay?” he asked once the coughing had thankfully died down.

Jongho winced, one hand staying on his aching ribs as they twinged painfully with each breath. He healed fast, yes, but his body could only do so much on missed meals and terrible sleep he managed to steal in whatever unnoticed corner of the day he could shove himself into. Cracked ribs were such a fucking bitch to deal with. Three weeks on and it still felt like a misplaced breath could rattle them like wind chimes.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he managed to mumble out, voice a little rough. 

He could feel stares on him and he instinctively hunched down away from them, wincing when his ribs cried out in protest. Pointedly looking down, he sipped tentatively at the water he’d been given.

“Thanks,” he said lamely, not quite able to meet those worried eyes still on him.

The man seemed ready to say something else, gaze going to the way Jongho was still holding his ribs. Jongho tensed, eyes already going to the door as he looked around for a quick escape. But then the man’s mouth fell shut, something complicated flitting across his features as he thankfully decided to not voice anything.

“Like I said, ‘don’t worry about it’, kid,” the man told him. “Here,” he rummaged around in his apron pocket – Jongho hadn’t even realised he was wearing one till now, wow – and pulled out a chocolate bar.

He placed it by Jongho’s plate, lips tugging into an encouraging smile when Jongho just stared at it and then at him.

“Take it easy, yeah?” he said, giving one last smile before moving on to hand out more drinks.

Jongho blinked down at the newly acquired coffee, chocolate, and water, not quite sure what to feel about it all. He put down the tears starting to prick at his eyes as a result of all the coughing from earlier before picking up his chopsticks and going back to his meal: this time round at a much more sedate pace lest he do a repeat. Now _that_ would be mortifying. He’d much rather just pass away on the spot at that point, escaping the country and Psy-Ops be damned.

Once he was done shovelling as much food as his stomach could take, he packed away the rest, shoving it all into his backpack alongside the apple. He hesitated with the chocolate, choosing to put it into his hoodie pocket instead. His hand would graze against it every now and then as he downed the remaining coffee and cleared his spot, before getting up to leave. 

On his way out, he made eye contact with the same man from earlier. He hesitated at the small smile sent his way before giving a small jerky bow. Jongho then quickly tugged up his hood and headed back out into the bitter cold.

  
  


**~*~*~*~*~*~**

  
  


Hongjoong poured out his third coffee of the day, shooting San a sharp look when the other raised a brow at him from where he was digging out some leftovers from the fridge. Whatever, it was technically the afternoon already and he needed the caffeine if he was going to stay awake till dinner time. He’d barely gotten any sleep last night and his phone had gone off just as he’d drifted off, someone needing an extra hand with getting a family out. They’d managed to get it done thank fuck but he was running on approximately negative hours of sleep at the moment and it felt like he could slip right through the kitchen counter if he didn’t get his hit.

“Seonghwa says you need to cut down,” San said, lips pursing as he filched out a container and gave it a tentative sniff before shrugging and taking it with him to sit down at the dining table.

“ _Seonghwa_ doesn’t need to know about this,” Hongjoong muttered as he held the cup, soaking up the warmth and breathing in the familiar scent. He should probably get back to his desk to do some more work but he _was_ kind of hungry now that he thought about it as he eyed San’s food.

“Seonghwa doesn’t need to know about _what_?”

_Speak of the fucking devil-_

“Hongjoong’s having coffee again,” San said around a mouthful of japchae, chopsticks lifting to point at Hongjoong even as he shrunk down to try and hide the cup. 

_The goddamn traitor - there was no loyalty in this household._

Hongjoong shot San the dirtiest look he could muster, very maturely flipping him the middle finger before Seonghwa rounded on him and he quickly changed gears, sending an innocent smile his way. Seonghwa simply raised an eyebrow, spotting the offending cup straight away.

“I was wondering where you’d gone off to,” Seonghwa said drily. “I was going to make you something to eat since you missed lunch.”

“Hey, I missed lunch too,” San whined, pouting around his chopsticks. “What about me?”

“It would have been for _both_ of you,” Seonghwa shot back, walking up to Hongjoong and holding out his hand for the mug he was trying desperately to hide.

“We talked about this, Hongjoong,” he said, tone brooking no room for argument.

“ _You_ talked about it,” Hongjoong mumbled.

“When’s the last time you had some water?” Seonghwa pressed, cutting in quickly when Hongjoong opened his mouth. “Water that _wasn’t_ mixed in with coffee.”

“Funny story actually -” Hongjoong started to say when his cursed phone went off.

Very attuned to the sound and what it could entail, Seonghwa and San tensed, watching warily as Hongjoong dug it out of his pocket with a sigh. He frowned down at the caller ID before picking up, coffee argument momentarily abated.

“Bang?”

_“Found your kid, Kim.”_

Hongjoong straightened up so fast he almost shoulder checked Seonghwa in the face, the other man swiftly reaching out to gently steady him before he could knock the coffee off the counter and end up face planting into the dining table.

“Where?” Hongjoong asked, urgency starting to lick a fire up his nerves as he ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up even more.

_“He swung by the kitchen. Left not too long ago but I gave him a sticker for now.”_

Hongjoong understood the hidden message woven into the words: _I put a trace on him_.

_“I’ll send you the location.”_

“Yeah, okay,” Hongjoong said, nodding along to the info. “Thank you.”

_“You gotta pick him up, Kim. He could get into trouble. I saw some kids following him around - looked like they could be trouble.”_

_Something’s not right. There’s someone else on his trail and they’re closing in._

Fucking _shit_.

As valuable as Bang Yongguk’s ability was, Hongjoong didn’t envy him one bit. The man had the gift of foresight, getting random visions of the future at odd hours. Sometimes they’d be related to him or those close to him, intrinsically tied to his life, but otherwise they came without rhyme or reason. With physical touch however, he could track someone, his ability latching onto them so he could pinpoint where they were and see their near future until it wore off. It wasn’t an exact science and physical proximity played a role in it so they had to act fast, the window of opportunity narrowing with each second that passed. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hongjoong took a deep breath to try and calm his racing thoughts despite the dread and anticipation starting to build in his gut.

“Thanks for letting me know, Bang.”

_“No problem. I’ll text you the details. Stay safe, Kim.”_

“Yeah, you too,” Hongjoong said quietly before the call ended.

When he looked back up, he had two sets of curious stares focused on him.

“What happened?” Seonghwa asked first, beating San to it.

“They found the Meta,” Hongjoong announced, waiting impatiently for the notification sound to go off before pouncing and tapping the message open. 

He scanned it quickly, reading between the lines of code, brow furrowing as he picked apart what Yongguk was trying to tell him.

“Where?” Seonghwa asked, face tightening as he looked between Hongjoong’s face and his phone.

“The scrapyard in Guui-dong. He’ll be there,” Hongjoong said, running a hand through his hair again before stealing the cup of coffee back and downing a large gulp before Seonghwa could stop him. 

“But Bang said we’re not the only ones that know. There are others tracking him down. So we have to get there first.”

That gave Seonghwa pause before he could say anything about the coffee. Hongjoong took advantage of his momentary distraction to take another sip, earning himself a sharp look.

“Shit. They’re not Underground?” San asked, chopsticks frozen halfway to his mouth.

“No one else has contacted me so probably not. Now get your ass up. You’re coming with me,” Hongjoong told him before turning back to Seonghwa. “I need the coffee to not die later. You know this.”

Seonghwa gave him a dirty look for a moment longer before the fight melted away and he sighed, nodding his grudging assent.

“Don’t die,” he said sternly, but Hongjoong could see the worry swimming in his eyes.

“Never,” Hongjoong replied, reaching out to give his hand a small squeeze. 

Seonghwa gripped it back even tighter before he reluctantly let go. Hongjoong gave him a small smile, the promise clear in his eyes before rounding on San. 

“Now, San!” he snapped when he caught the man trying to sneak in a few last quick bites of his food, gaze pointedly averted away from them.

He strode out of the kitchen, San hot on his heels as he called out to Yunho. They had a Meta to find first.

  
  


**~*~*~*~*~*~**

  
  


“You’re sure he’s a Meta?” the man demanded again.

Shin Minseok nodded quickly, unable to tear his eyes away from the fat wad of money he’d been handed in exchange for the information. The smuggler had never seen so much in his entire life, eyes raking over it nonstop as he took it all in: the weight of it all, the crispness of the notes. As he thumbed at the stack, he faintly wondered if it would have that new money smell if he chanced a sniff. Whatever, he’d have all the time in the world later to smell it all. Fuck he could probably _roll_ around in this shit later if he wanted. Just the thought of it made him giddy.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said distractedly when the man shifted impatiently. “Kid got all shifty when I mentioned those Psy-Ops fuckers. Asked specifically for a pro-Meta country as well.”

The man questioning him looked to the side, to where his boss sat in the shadows, hidden save for a glint of white where his mask covered his face. He stood from his seat, movements fluid and predatory as he stepped closer, his second in command stepping backward, head bowed, but he barely paid him any notice. Inky black eyes watched the smuggler practically shake with barely concealed excitement at his prize, the disgust in them clear as if he were watching a rat emerge from the sewers. 

Minseok was so focused on his pay day, he hadn’t even noticed the new movement as the man emerged from the shadows to stand behind him, towering above him as he drew himself to his full height.

“Describe him,” the masked man commanded, voice deep and scratchy. 

The sound cut through Minseok’s single-minded focus, like nails dragging silently down his back, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake.

Suddenly all too aware of the presence at his back, he froze, heart starting to speed up in his chest. He could feel a primal fear rising at the recognition of a predator standing far too close to him. He tried to turn around, instinct screaming at him for leaving his back exposed. But found that he couldn’t. 

His feet wouldn’t obey him. They were stuck firmly to the ground no matter how hard he tried to take a step. Minseok could feel the sweat starting to bead at his skin, his breaths starting to come in short and fast when the realisation sunk in that he couldn’t move a single inch, his body held in place by an unseen force. All thoughts of the money in his hand melted away, excitement draining away as dread consumed his being.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” the voice said, dark and sinister with the thinly veiled threat.

Minseok gulped, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. He licked his lips, trying desperately to stop them from drying out as he worked his mouth open.

“He’s a kid,” he stammered out, words tripping over themselves in his haste to answer. “In his twenties, I’m guessing? Sounded pretty young. Kinda scrawny. Had a mask on.” He racked his brain, trying desperately to remember more about the Meta that had practically begged him for a way out of the country. “Dark hair. Big eyes? That’s- that’s all I got for you.”

He blinked rapidly, tongue swiping across his lips: a nervous habit he had never quite gotten rid off.

The man said nothing as if contemplating what he’d just been told. The silence was so loud, tension gripping the air, solidifying it and weighing it down. Minseok would have started trembling if he could move. His heart was thundering so loud in his chest, he was sure they could both hear it.

“I swear that’s all I know,” Minseok said, voice shaky with desperation and fear. “Please. I’ve told you everything. I- I even gave you the Meta!” he tried. _That’s what they’d wanted, right?!_

The voice hummed, low and contemplative. 

Minseok’s heart skipped a beat in his chest before thundering anew, pace doubling painfully.

“You know what I despise almost as much as Psy-Ops?” the man asked, voice dipping low and far, far too close to Minseok’s ear. 

He tried to look away from the ghostly white encroaching on his periphery as the man leaned in close, bending down and invading his personal space to talk right into his ear.

“People who profit off of our suffering and desperation,” he said, barely restrained anger starting to bubble under the surface. 

_How could Minseok have been so fucking blind to not see it?_

It had always been there, seething silently. Only now it was unleashed, bleeding out of the man and leeching outward to infect the very air they all breathed. Minseok breath stuttered, his lungs turning to ice as he practically choked on the pure hatred. 

He fought to move his legs, to move anything so he could run far far away - put as much distance between himself and them. But he’d been too greedy, too stupid, and now he was as helpless as a fly caught in a spider’s web.

“Those who take advantage of this fucking shithole of a country to make money off of scared Metas,” the man hissed, pure vitriol dripping from each syllable. “You don’t deserve to breathe our air.”

“Trash like you have polluted this land for far too long.”

“ _Please_ ,” Minseok begged but his pleas fell on deaf ears. “I won’t take the money! I won’t tell anyone anything!”

He could feel his hand start to move but not of his own volition. It pulled out his phone, turning to hand it to the first man who had asked him about the Meta, along with the money. He stared down at it, eyes widening in horror as it pulled out the pocketknife he had hidden away in his vest.

“Please don’t. _Please_ -”

The masked man drew back, watching impassively as Shin Minseok’s jaw was forced shut, cutting off his pathetic crying. He waved a hand, moving Shin’s hand like a puppeteer as he forced the smuggler to stab his own hands. 

The quiet of the warehouse was shattered by awful pained screams, muffled from behind a mouth clamped shut. Shin then proceeded to run himself through, piercing his eyes and slashing at his own face until rivulets of blood ran down his body. It dripped down onto the concrete below, pouring out into a pool that looked almost black under the dim lighting. The dull squelch of the knife piercing raw flesh grated against the silence, joining the muted cries to form a horrifying symphony.

The man simply tilted his head to the side when Shin’s strength started to fade, oozing out with the blood loss and pain. The sounds had died down, Shin’s vocal cords scraped raw and wrung out from the nonstop screaming as it turned into choked off grunts and pitiful mewling. Yet, his hand never slowed, forced onward despite his agony and begging.

Flicking a wrist, he watched with glittering eyes as Shin raised the knife to his neck with both hands. The disgusting noises started anew, red leaking out from what used to be his eyes, as he tried desperately to stop himself but it was useless. 

The blade pierced his skin, dark red gushing out as he slowly dragged it across his throat. The knife jerked in his blood stained hands, slipping in his wet grip as he slit his throat from ear to ear.

Only once the deed was done, did the masked man release Shin, barely giving the rat of a man a second glance as he collapsed to the floor in a boneless heap. The body twitched weakly in its death throes, making odd wheezing noises as it choked on its own blood and gasped for air.

The man went up to his Second, holding a hand out for Shin’s phone. It was quickly given to him, his Second’s eyes trained on the ground as he kept his head bowed. His gaze never wavered, even as they both heard the body finally go quiet behind them.

“Toss it away. I want it out of my sight,” the masked man ordered coldly, sweeping out of the warehouse without another word.

He had a Meta to meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it?!!  
> So everything's slowly getting set in motion. Who is the Masked Man huhu? Did anyone catch the parallels?
> 
> Please do leave a comment below letting me know if you enjoyed! Your kind comments mean the world and help this poor author as I keep churning out them words.
> 
> Sorry about the gore. I hope it wasn't too much!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!!  
> Love y'all ♥♥♥


	4. Hardy Little Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware the Wave.  
> Always stand by the Buddy System.  
> Jongho should probably invest in getting a buddy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are back babey!!! Happy New Year! Strap yourselves in because it's gonna be a bumpy ride.

Jongho frowned down at his phone, gaze flitting between the sign hanging overhead and the bright glow emanating from the device held in his hand. The old letters matched the coordinates he’d been sent by the smuggler in a cryptic message that had told him to be here within the hour. The man had told him he’d found transport ready to go for the night. Jongho had gotten there with 10 minutes to spare.

Night had crept in as he’d jumped on the bus and power walked the last few stretches. Out here in the industrial district, the lights were too far and few in between to break the cover of darkness as it enveloped the city. Jongho tried not to shiver as a gust of wind blew past, sending the sign creaking ominously overhead.

He peered past the chain-link fence, trying to see if the man was nearby but found no one in sight. He could make out a faint light coming from what looked to be an office and figured Shin had chosen to wait for him inside in the warmth. Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Jongho ducked under the boom gate and made his way through the junkyard.

The looming shadows of machinery and broken cars had his shoulders climbing upward, his hands balling into fists in his pockets as he walked down the pathway. He could make out jagged metal from the columns of wreckage on either side of him, positioned like a hungry maw waiting to clamp shut around him. Loose gravel and glass crunched underfoot as he made his way to the lone source of light. Its reflection off of stray glass and cracked headlights had him tensing, the light bending oddly as he moved, like eyes following him from the dark. His skin buzzed with anticipation as he trudged onward.

An eternity and yet no time had passed by the time he found himself in front of the shipping container fashioned into an office. He dragged his eyes over it, unable to make out anything through the shuttered blinds. Sucking in a deep breath through his mask, he grabbed the doorknob, twisting it and stepping into the light.

The sudden brightness momentarily blinded him as he rapidly blinked it away. When his eyes finally adjusted, he immediately tensed up, grip on the doorknob tightening when he saw the man waiting for him wasn’t Shin.

His gaze raked over the man’s form, taking in the severe buzzcut, the jagged scar looping over his ear, the all-black gear, and combat boots. He could make out tattoos snaking up the exposed skin of his neck. So again, very  _ not  _ Shin.

“Who are you?” Jongho demanded once he finally got his mouth to work. “Where’s Shin?” He could feel the anxiety rising, fear turning his limbs to lead.  _ Fuck he was so dumb for coming.  _

“Indisposed at the moment,” the man said, voice deep but surprisingly soft. His dark eyes bore into Jongho’s. “We just want to talk, Kim.”

Jongho felt his stomach swoop at that.  _ We? _

The man took a step to the side, neck shifting distractedly to flash a tattoo on his nape: frothy waves that were a deep menacing red instead of blue. 

Jongho’s gaze flicked back to the rest of the room as the movement revealed someone sitting patiently at the desk where Shin’s nameplate gleamed under the lighting. It was almost comical really and a dim part of Jongho wanted to burst out laughing, the peals high, reedy, and panicked no doubt, but a larger part clamped down on the urge, citing some sensible self-preservation. Because even sitting down with his hands steepled in front of him like some fucking principal, Jongho felt trapped underneath the gaze peeking out from one crack in the white mask. He was a rat tacked to a board, ready to be dissected for biology class.

Jongho turned tail and ran.

Or he tried to, at least.

He was just able to twist himself around, the stairs and dirt path within his sight, tantalising and just within reach.  _ If he could just fucking move.  _ But no. His body wasn’t listening to him, frozen solid to the ground where he stood. He couldn’t even move his head to look down to check if he’d stepped into some construction grade superglue or some other looney tunes shit.

“That’s rude, kid.”

This voice was different from the first man. It wasn’t smooth and soft. It was gravelly and almost sounded amused at his attempt to flee. Where the first man’s voice had been tilled earth, this one was the flickering of fire flames, deceptive and entrancing with their heat and dance before they swallowed you whole.

“We just wanted to talk.”

He felt his body swivelling back around, pivoting on his heel, as he shut the door. Jongho couldn’t help the surprised sharp inhale as he felt his body move of its own volition, his breath hitching in the back of his throat as he stepped further into the room. His wide eyes were the only thing he could control, catching the dark glittering amusement from the depths of that fucking mask, as his gaze flew desperately around the room. But he was helpless to stop it.

He ended up seated in a chair on the opposite side of the desk, skin too warm and clammy underneath his thick layers, as the lone visible eye roved over his frozen frame. The other man came to settle behind him, hovering nearby but presence clearly threatening as he stayed within Jongho’s periphery. Jongho must’ve been more sleep-deprived than he thought because the urge to laugh was back.  _ All this for lil ole him?  _

His hand moved up to his face and before he could comprehend what was happening, it ripped off his face mask, exposing his face for the world to see. 

_ Shit. _

He was exposed, his face laid bare for people he really would rather never know what he looked like. He couldn’t squirm even if he wanted to as silence settled over the room, the masked man tapping his fingers absentmindedly as he seemed to take Jongho in. 

The beating of Jongho’s heart was so fucking loud in his chest, he almost prayed a heart attack would put him out of his misery first. But that would be too easy.  _ Fuck  _ if they had at least hit him, he could have gotten  _ something _ going to try and get out.

The fingers stilled, gloved hands coming in to settle back down on the desk.

Jongho’s mind was freefalling with fear, churning out every worst-case scenario he had been prepped to fear - and rightfully so as he stared at what looked like blood speckles on the corner of the mask. First came the tacks, then came the chloroform to knock him out, then came the scalpel to put his guts on display, then came the tweezers and fingers to play around with them, then came the-

“How old are you, Kim?”

_ That _ wasn’t what he was expecting. At all. The almost soft tone bowled him over so completely all he could do was blink in dumb terror.

Suddenly the grip on his body was released. He would have fallen over if he wasn’t already sitting. He slumped forward slightly, catching himself before he slid off the chair, chest heaving as he forced himself to try and stay calm, to just fucking breathe through it.

“He asked you a question,” the man behind him prompted when he stayed silent for too long.

Jongho managed to shift his brain into gear enough to force out an answer. He drummed his fingers nervously against his legs.

“22. I’m 22.”

Thank fuck his higher brain function hadn’t fled him completely that he was able to give them the answer on record. He gripped his knees so hard, trying desperately to still the tremors in his hands. But he couldn’t stop the drumming, the heel of his foot joining the symphony even as he tried his best to stifle the sounds.

The mask tilted to the side, a small increment but jarring still. Somehow the number had intrigued the masked man.

“Only 22 and you blew up a building without any help  _ huh _ .”

Jongho squeezed his eyes shut, hands balling into fists as he tried to not think about that particular memory. No one had died, well save for those Psy-Ops - but they could hardly count as people. He hadn’t meant to but he had lost control. He’d cost people their homes and next time his mistake could very well cost people their lives.

Had these men come for him because they’d known someone he’d fucked over in that building? Had they been friends with those Metas??

His wide eyes flew up to look at the man sitting across from him but he didn’t see any anger, just something that looked like fascination.

“You hungry, kid?”

He- what?

The questions were giving Jongho whiplash. He tensed, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for fists and bullets to start flying. Violence he knew the answer to (all too well) but this? It threw him for a loop.

Jongho couldn’t answer, struck dumb yet again.

“Relax.”

_ That  _ Jongho did laugh at. It was small and died off rather quickly when his common sense kicked in belatedly, but they’d all heard his disbelieving wheeze. He flinched inwardly and cursed himself, body tensing as he anticipated a hit that never came.

The masked man’s gaze flicked away from him, hardening momentarily as he exchanged a look with the man standing behind Jongho. Then it was back to him, switching back to faint amusement.

“You must be hungry. You look it, kid.”

Jongho had always been built a little stocky, had pushed himself to maintain a strong physique for if he ever had to fight his way out - which he had. But it had been impossible to keep up with his usual routine now that he was on the run and skipping meals. He felt haggard, exhaustion seeping in deep, going down past bone level. He knew he looked it too, his body starting to lose muscle mass quick as it ate away at his reserves to keep him up and running. His meals at the soup kitchen could only do so much.

“I’m good,” he said quietly, fingers starting to drum against his knees again. He had the leftovers and the chocolate bar from earlier. He’d be fine.

“Come with us.”

There it was. The other shoe. Jongho’s drumming stuttered before picking up double time.

His gaze flicked to the side, where he could see the other man out of the corner of his eye, still behind him, lying silently in wait. The tension in the room was climbing again, inching upward steadily as Jongho stayed silent even as his hands twitched, fingers still tapping out that nervous beat.

“Come with us and you won’t go hungry. You’ll have warm meals. A roof over your head. And you won’t have to live in fear of your power ever again, kid.”

His tone was warm, concerned  _ for him _ . Jongho could hear the inviting crackle of a warm bonfire, all laid out and ready for him to lean into, to soak in the warmth after finally coming in from the cold. He gripped his thighs tighter. 

“Hell. You’ll even get to have some fun with it.”

He’d finally put two and two together: they were Meta extremists. The tattoo, the glaring absence of Shin, the blood spatters on the mask. 

_ Fucking fuck.  _ Of course, he’d managed to draw attention from an honest to god terrorist cell with his shit luck. As useful as his ability was, sometimes Jongho wished he’d gotten something more benign like being able to talk to animals or some shit. But no, he was born a ticking time bomb.

Right now though it felt like he’d stumbled into a bear trap. One wrong move and the jaws would clamp tight, costing him a leg. He had no fucking choice though. He bit the bullet.

“No, thank you,” he gritted out, trying to maintain eye contact even as the faux kindness shuttered behind the lone eye. “I’m good.”

The temperature in the room seemed to visibly drop, Jongho’s skin prickling as goosebumps erupted all over. Something flashed from behind the mask.

“You’d stoop to running some fat  _ human _ fuck’s deliveries when you could be helping out your own kind?” the masked man asked.

Jongho swallowed at that dig, his tongue darting out quickly to wet his too dry lips. Of course, they’d covered the bases and dug into his background.

“I don’t want to kill humans.”

He didn’t want to kill  _ anyone _ . He’d been born into a metaphorical gladiator ring the moment his genetics had taken after his mother. It was an uphill battle to just stay breathing in this goddamn country. But that didn’t mean he found pleasure in blowing up apartment buildings.

He may very well die tonight, right here in this shithole junkyard, but he’d like to be able to look his mother in the eye when he finally got to meet her again.

“Even after all they’ve done to us, Jongin?” the masked man said, the air souring with his mood as it took a turn for the worse.

Jongho nodded stiffly. He didn’t know where to look. He could feel the man looming behind him all too easily but to take his eyes off of the masked man would be tantamount to suicide. To simplify, Jongho was fucked either way.

The masked man had the audacity to feign disappointment as he gave Jongho a quelling look.

“I’m afraid your power is just too useful to us, kiddo,” he said.

Movement flashed in the corner of his eye just as Jongho found himself unable to move again, locked within his own body. But he’d been holding back, fueling the hungry expanse within him with all the tapping and drumming. His chest was warm, energy thrumming under his skin at the ready. It wouldn’t be much, especially in comparison to the building fire but it might just be enough.

Like flicking the flint wheel in a lighter, Jongho let loose a spark, igniting the flames within as he exhaled. 

It burst out of him, raw and powerful, eliciting angry pained yells as the heatwave slammed into the two men. They were sent flying into the walls of the small office container, breaking the hold over him as they were temporarily distracted. 

Not wasting a single second more, Jongho charged at a cracked window, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he hurtled through it shoulder first.

He went crashing down to the ground below, shoulder snagging painfully on loose gravel and fresh glass as he rolled with the momentum. Biting down on the pain, Jongho sprang up from the roll and took off towards the gate. He was sprinting down the path like the very hounds of hell were at his feet when he heard heavy footsteps chasing after him.

Jongho pushed himself to run faster, chest heaving, heart thundering, and backpack smacking dully against his back, as he desperately tried to put distance between them. The grunts of his pursuer were loud, wet with pain, as something snapped and audibly cracked behind him. 

The sounds continued, sickening as they echoed loud enough to be heard over the crunching of boots on gravel. Chancing a glance over his shoulder, Jongho almost lost his footing at the sight of the monstrous being as it blotted out the night sky.

“Shit, shit,” he hissed as it got down on all fours, gaining speed as it closed the distance between them. “Oh shit.”

It slammed into him, thick arms the size of logs wrapping around his middle and dragging him down to a painful rolling stop. 

The breath was punched out of him as Jongho hit the ground hard. He could only wheeze at the sharp pinpricks of pain as rocks dug into his skin where he bounced pathetically against the dirt pathway. 

Coughing weakly, Jongho staggered to his feet, dismayed to find his only exit blocked by the hulking beast.  _ What the fuck even was it?  _

He spotted the scar running across the side of its head, skin puckered and raised, visible amidst all the fur. Jongho’s horrified gaze flicked to those eyes from earlier, now ringed with molten gold and trained hungrily on him. Oh fuck he was  _ so fucked _ .

A look back at where they came from showed the masked man advancing from a far distance, almost lazily taking his time as he blocked off Jongho’s chance at a retreat. But Jongho knew he was simply biding his time. Why bother rushing when he already had his attack dog doing the dirty work for him?

Jongho turned back to face the Meta, barely getting his hands up in time as it swung at him. Claws tore through his sleeves, grazing the skin underneath as Jongho tried to backtrack. Hissing, he kicked out, landing a solid hit in its side. But it barely even blinked.

A clawed hand fisted the front of his jacket, lifting him until his feet were kicking nothing but air. Jongho grabbed onto the offending arm, grunting as he heaved his legs up to wrap around it. He shoved a foot against the Meta’s throat, trying to gain some leverage as he pressed down with all he had.

Anyone else and they would’ve ended up releasing him in order to be able to breathe properly, but not this motherfucker. 

Jongho felt the rumblings of a growl travelling up his feet before it spilled out into the air from a twitching jaw. He heard the air whistling around him in warning before he was bodily slammed into a mountain of car wreckage.

Glass crunched as his head took the brunt of the impact, thunking painfully and sending his ears ringing. Sharp metal jabbed at him, slivers pressing into him and cutting into his skin. A small part of him just knew that without his backpack, he’d have very well broken his spine by now. Jongho had barely gotten over being swung around the first time when he heard the air sing as the Meta moved again, a furious snarl rippling from its chest.

This time Jongho heard the sickening pop first before the pain ripped through the haze of his concussion-addled brain. Fire tore through his arm from his shoulder as the ball popped free from its socket. 

A scream ripped its way out of his throat as Jongho released the arm, flopping uselessly as he was unceremoniously dropped. His dislocated shoulder connected with a car hood on the way down, eliciting another choked-off cry as he tumbled to the ground, slumping into a pained heap.

Tears stung his eyes, blurring his vision as he tried to blink them away. His feet scrabbled backwards as he shrunk in on himself, away from the Meta looming over him. He clutched at his arm, swallowing the pain down as he tried to breathe.

_ Fuck his shoulder hurt like a fucking bitch. _

Jongho glanced at it, gagging at the way it hung awkwardly, bones jutting out wrong under his skin. He could feel the tears slipping free, hot against his cold skin as his remaining good hand twitched uselessly. He could barely make out a coherent thought through the mind-numbing pain. There were footsteps coming his way but he couldn’t focus, his brain whirring wildly as it tried to remember what he’d read on the internet ages ago.

He’d heard about his classmate leaving school early for the day after he’d dislocated his shoulder in gym class throwing a ball too hard to try and impress some girls. Apparently, he’d cried so hard at the pain he’d puked all over himself and the panicky gym teacher. So Jongho had just looked it up to be safe.

_ Get to it quick. The sooner the better. Relax the muscles. Breathe. _

Biting down on his bottom lip, Jongho forced himself to relax as he gripped his right wrist with his left and pulled his right arm forward. Grunting through it, he pushed it up until it was straight out in front of him, biting down so hard he could taste blood as the joint slowly clicked back into place. The pain was still there of course, but it was slightly more bearable now as he clutched at his right shoulder, chest heaving as he curled in on himself to ride out the waves of nausea.

“Hardy little shit, aren’t you? I like that.”

That voice again. That fucking voice.

Jongho’s lip curled as his head lolled to face the masked man. Despite not being able to see his eye in the dark, Jongho had a feeling the Meta was amused as he watched on like his misery was some sickening entertainment show.

Even as his body screamed in protest, Jongho pushed himself to his feet. He used the wreckage behind him for support as he stood up, swaying wildly as he glared them down. His right arm was useless, pinned to his side and swelling up with each passing second. There was blood running down the side of his face and his arms, tacky against his skin. His skull felt like it had been used as a maraca, his brain throbbing dully from where it had been bounced around. His whole body ached like one giant pulsing bruise. 

He must look a sight, sorry and more than a little pathetic, but still. Fuck him if he wasn’t going down swinging. Jongho spat out the blood in his mouth from where he’d bitten down on his cheek and lip.

“Fuck you.” 

That got the beast moving, jaws snapping in a furious snarl, as it lunged forward. Jongho somehow managed to clumsily sidestep it, wincing at the sound of metal screeching as its claws tore through like butter. Keeping his right arm tucked in close, he ducked forward, dodging another blow to land one of his own.

He put some energy into it as he punched out, hitting a solid chest with a quick burst of light. The blast sent the Meta stumbling back a few steps as Jongho circled around, kicking out and sending it back a few more steps.

_ Good, he just had to keep going. Get it to back the fuck off. Then maybe. Maybe he could make another run for it. _

He was powering up for another punch when it charged again, feinting to the side and sending him stumbling off-kilter when it swiped at his fucked up arm. He was too slow to dodge, clumsy with pain and weighed down by his backpack. Claws hooked into flesh, tearing his shoulder to ribbons as Jongho fell forward, a cracked yell tearing free when he instinctively caught himself on both hands, the impact jostling his injuries and creating new ones as he scraped his palms.

_ Shit. Fucking god damn it. _

Blood was streaming steadily down his arm now, painting the ground below with dark splatters. Jongho felt faint as he stared dumbly at the slowly growing puddle, unable to muster any more strength to fight. His chest heaved as his right arm twitched upward, curling into his chest as he tried to protect it somehow. The bag slipped off his back, falling to his left side as the right strap fell away, torn to scraps. His left arm was shaking, trembling from exhaustion and from holding up his weight.  _ Fuck he was so weak. _

“Enough playing with your food. Grab him.”

Jongho felt a meaty palm wrap around his ankle and tug sharply, sending him sprawling even further onto the ground. Twisting around to better protect his fucked up arm and so he could see better, Jongho’s one good hand scrabbled desperately as he kept hold of his bag while trying to find some purchase in the loose dirt and gravel beneath him. But there was nothing as he was dragged by his foot like some sack of potatoes. 

He could see the masked man watching, head tilted to the side, as they drew closer.  _ Fuck this fucking guy and the goddamn horse he rode in on. _

Jongho growled, suddenly furious, as he kicked out at the hand holding onto him. It only tightened, claws starting to prick at his skin in clear threat. 

Jongho could feel the dirt building under his nails, loose bits of rock and glass tearing away at his flailing hand. The pounding of his head was worsening steadily with each thump. And he’d rather fucking die than be dragged to whatever hell they had planned for him. Throwing caution to the wind, he decided to follow along with his delirious angry thought process; he kicked out again and again and again.

The Meta snapped its jaw, looking to the masked man who made a sweeping ‘go ahead’ gesture with one hand.

“He doesn’t need it.”

_ He what- _

The ironclad hold on his ankle clamped down even harder, claws digging in as his bones creaked threateningly. Jongho’s hand twitched uselessly as he tried to pull himself free to no avail. 

“Don’t-” he gritted out.

The snap of his bone took him by surprise, reverberating throughout his whole body. Jongho’s throat seized up as he choked, mind blanking out momentarily. He was on the precipice, stuck on the edge of fleeting numbness but then the Meta gave his broken leg another harsh tug and that pushed him over. He fell, nerves igniting a fire to his brain as it finally registered the break.

Jongho’s scream ripped free, his throat aching as he yelled himself hoarse. He shuddered when his muscles unlocked, the pain washing over him in agonizing waves as he continued to be dragged forward.

He could barely see anything else through the blur of pain and tears. Darkness was creeping in on the edges of his vision, his world narrowing down to the pain flaring upwards from his broken leg to join the heat radiating from his fucked up shoulder. They connected across his body, forming one long unbroken string of agony as the rest of his battered body pitched in.

Adrenaline had fled his system, leaving his skin cold and clammy as his body shut down on him. Even the pain was slowly bleeding out of him, leaving him fuzzy as his brain clocked out. He was dimly aware of the scraping sound his body made as he was pulled along, eyelids fluttering weakly as his roving eyes found the night sky, wide, gaping, and endless in its passive watch above him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed that! Thank you so much for waiting and reading!!! I adore y'all so much! Comments are super duper appreciated (◡‿◡✿)♥♥♥
> 
> I ended up writing too much for one chapter and having to cut it down again smfh when will I learn so hopefully the next update should be coming real soon if I don't get swamped with other fic ideas again.  
> Please do let me know what y'all think! I love reading through comments (≧◡≦)


	5. The First Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang's getting together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting!  
> Life kinda sucker punched me lmao  
> Without further ado, please enjoy!

Hongjoong felt, more so than heard, the familiar crack as San teleported them a few ways away from the junkyard. His eyes remained closed for a few extra seconds though even as San’s hand fell away. He forcefully exhaled, willing the nausea away. Two years later and his body still hadn’t gotten used to the sensation.

“Alright,” he muttered as he forced his eyes open and looked around.

Yunho appeared a little pale but he was valiantly powering through it as he looked down at Hongjoong, no doubt concerned for him. San was already a few steps away, peering past the boom gate on tiptoe with a packet of energy gel stuck between his lips as he sucked on it.

“No one posted outside,” he commented idly, looking back at them.

Hongjoong and Yunho exchanged a loaded look. Psy-Ops operated militaristically: this wasn’t standard procedure for them. Which only meant one thing.

“Metas,” Yunho said grimly, voicing Hongjoong’s very same thought out loud.

Psy-Ops were one thing but other Metas were a whole other issue. Psy-Ops were predictable with their bullets and guns, but Metas and their abilities were complete wild cards. They had to proceed with caution, especially after all he’d heard about Kim and his ability.

“San, I need you to-” Hongjoong started to say when his words were cut off by a blood curdling scream.

They all froze, automatically looking to the direction of the sound.

“Fuck,” Hongjoong hissed, immediately ducking under the boom gate as he took off running, Yunho and San hot on his heels.

“San, give me eyes,” he said, not slowing down even as he heard the crack, San going for the highest vantage point around.

“Keep heading left.” San’s voice crackled over the comms. “I see three figures. One’s not moving though.”

Hongjoong felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. _Fuck was he too late?_ He ran faster, Yunho overtaking him easily with his longer legs.

They burst out onto a path branching off towards the office, walled up on either side by towering columns of scrap metal. At first glance there were only two figures, one hanging back in the near distance and almost hidden by the hulking figure standing closer to the middle of the path. They both turned at the sudden commotion. 

A glance downward showed the missing third figure currently being dragged by something Hongjoong’s wasn’t quite sure could even be considered within the same realm of humanoid.

“Jesus fucking christ what is that?” Yunho gaped, staring up at the behemoth currently looking at them with a twitching snarl.

The floodlights suddenly switched on, bathing the whole area in bright white light. Hongjoong peered down at the figure being pulled across the dirt path, eyes narrowing at the familiar features caked in blood. _Christ there was so much._

“ _Fucking_ **_drop him right now_** ,” Hongjoong snarled, taking a step forward. “ ** _Back the fuck off_**.”

The _Thing_ shuddered, deflating slightly as its eyes glazed over, turning glassy and going white. It swayed where it stood, clearly trying to fight the effects of his voice but very few people in this world could withstand him and his ability, let alone when he was pouring so much power into his words. It didn’t stand a chance: it never did really. 

Its hand twitched, fingers unlocking one by one before it was releasing Kim Jongin’s leg from its vice grip. It stumbled backwards, movements clumsy and uncoordinated before it came back to its senses, the white film melting away from its golden eyes. Shaking its head roughly (the motion looking vaguely human), it then set its sights on Hongjoong, growling furiously. 

He could see the figure in the far distance stiffen, white mask shining so bright under the lights it was like a beacon. He knew his ability sparked fear in most people the moment they realised what he could do with just his voice and a few choice words. _Fucking good._

A small part of his mind - that sounded a lot like Seonghwa - took note of the interesting choice of headgear the Meta had donned. Meanwhile the majority of him was focused on getting Kim Jongin as fucking far away as possible from the creature.

Before it could make another grab for the Meta, two cracks sounded almost instantaneously. Kim was there one second and being laid down at Hongjoong’s feet the next. San carefully deposited him on the ground, face cold as he straightened back up and went to stand at Yunho’s side.

The creature growled and charged as Hongjoong dropped to the ground by Kim’s side, his hands fluttering for a split second as he ascertained the damage done. There was _a lot._

Ahead of him, he could hear the sounds of a fight, scuffling intermixed with animalistic snarls. Crackles and buzzing filling the air, interspersed with those familiar cracks, as Yunho and San held off the Meta. Hongjoong trusted them to buy him some time so he kept his attention focused on Kim who looked far too pale underneath all the red. _There was just so fucking much._

“Fuck,” he hissed, tearing off his own jacket and balling it up to press down on the weeping shoulder with one hand while the other went to his comms. 

Kim barely twitched beneath him, a low groan his only reaction as his eyes remained shut. 

“Mars,” Hongjoong called out.

A curse from Yunho got him looking up, watching worriedly as the man stumbled back, clutching at his thigh. The creature stalked towards him, rearing back to swipe at him again when San dropped out of the night sky right above it. 

Using gravity to his advantage, he drove his daggers into a thick muscled back, yelling as he put all his force into it. A pained howl tore through the air, piercing and so very loud Hongjoong winced. The Meta reached back to throw San off, only to find him gone once again. 

He reappeared by Yunho’s side, steadying the man with one hand while his eyes flashed with concern.

“I’m fine,” Yunho bit out, waving the teleporter off as he charged up for another attack.

Hongjoong watched, face pinched as Yunho and San tag-teamed to keep the creature back. 

Yunho’s electric bolts lit up the sky with flashes of brilliant blue as San danced around it, landing hits before disappearing into thin air within the next second. They were pushing it back several paces as it growled and snapped at their combined attacks, getting louder and more enraged with each passing second and every inch lost. 

Straining his neck to get a good look, Hongjoong warily eyed the man in the mask standing behind it all, simply observing. He didn’t seem all too worried about his partner, leaving them to deal with Yunho and San singlehandedly. But a closer look revealed that he didn’t even seem to be watching the fight, attention focused instead on Hongjoong and Kim. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides as if he was holding himself back.

Hongjoong’s grip on Kim tightened ever so slightly. 

“I’m here. Hongjoong? Joong!” Seonghwa called, forcing Hongjoong’s attention away from the fight and the masked man. 

He dragged his eyes back down to Kim. 

“I need medical as soon as we get back. Call Bang and get Song ready on standby.” He looked back down at Kim, taking note of his pale lips and the odd way his leg was bent. “It’s bad.”

“Done and done, boss,” Mingi’s voice answered readily and was he really surprised that the other Meta had been listening in. 

He would bet good money on Yeosang and Wooyoung being in that room too, listening in on comms like gossiping high school kids.

“Good because-” Hongjoong started to say when he heard a pained wheeze coming from Kim, the Meta’s eyelids fluttering as his eyes blinked open.

“Kim, hey,” Hongjoong called out gently, trying to get the Meta’s attention as he dropped his hand from his comms piece to clasp at the Meta’s. 

Kim’s hand was cold, sticky with blood and covered in dirt. Wide eyes roved wildly, lost and confused as they tried to focus on his surroundings.

“Who?” he mumbled weakly. He flinched away when his gaze landed on Hongjoong, hand jerking out of his grip. 

Hongjoong pulled back slightly to give the Meta some space to breathe. He watched warily as Kim pulled himself up into a sitting position and tried to scoot away. The small move dislodged the jacket and pulled at his injured shoulder, eliciting a pained grimace as Kim bit down on his lip. A loud bellow from behind got his attention, his head whipping around sharply to find the source. 

Kim’s eyes got impossibly wider when he saw the fight happening not too far from them. He twitched, gaze flicking back and forth between Hongjoong and the others, as his hands searched for something. 

“Where?” he mumbled, unaware that Hongjoong could hear him.

When he couldn’t find it, he tried to get up, crying out when the move jostled his broken leg.

“Don’t move,” Hongjoong chastised, reaching out on instinct to steady the other Meta. But apparently that was the wrong thing to do.

Kim reached out to grab at his shirt and shoved him away with a surprising amount of strength, eyes delirious with pain and fear as he dragged himself away from Hongjoong. He had his left arm up, palm aimed straight at Hongjoong, even as his gaze darted around, still searching. His chest was heaving, sweat and blood dripping down and staining his clothes. He looked half out of his mind and ready to keel over.

_“He explodes, Hongjoong. I really don’t know what else to tell you, man. Best if we were far far away when that happens.”_

Yunho’s words from earlier rang in his head and Hongjoong could see the glow starting to build under Kim’s skin. _Well fuck._

“Joong!” Yunho’s voice was tense and sharp as he called out, but Hongjoong had known him long enough to hear the fear in that lone syllable.

That grabbed Kim’s attention, his head swiveling as he turned to stare at Yunho, jaw going slack with shock.

“You’re alive,” he breathed out, a complicated myriad of emotions flashing across his features as he looked on with disbelieving eyes.

The blood from his head wound was slowly trailing down his neck, the glow in his palms dying down, and that was Hongjoong’s cue.

He was about to reach out when he heard a telltale _crack_ cleave through the cacophony of noises surrounding them. It wasn’t San - not this time. 

Hongjoong wheeled around, unable to do anything but stare in wide-eyed horror as Yunho jerked backwards with a shocked cry, blood misting in the air as the bullet punched through his shoulder. He fell back onto the dirt path, groaning weakly as he curled in on himself, trying to push himself back up to his feet. 

In the distance, the masked man tilted his head to the side as he stared down the barrel of his smoking gun. He cocked it again, lining up another shot. 

**_“Stop!”_ **

Desperation, fear, and anger lent Hongjoong power as he poured it out into the lone syllable, willing for them to just _fucking stop_. The beast sputtered to a halt mid-roar, clawed hands frozen mid-air as it stopped in its lunge for Yunho, eyes glazing over with white. 

Hongjoong couldn’t quite tell from the distance but it felt like the masked man made eye contact with him as he pulled the trigger. 

Multiple things happened all at once within split seconds of each other. 

San appeared at Yunho’s side, grabbing hold of him as he whisked them away.

Three _cracks_ split the air in rapid succession as Hongjoong felt a ripple. 

San materialised behind him, clutching a bloody Yunho in tow, as someone shoved Hongjoong back, sending him sprawling.

Before he could make a noise in affront, two bullets were suddenly inches away from him, exactly where he’d been not a second ago. They floated, trembling slightly as if held back by an invisible force until they dropped to the ground, useless.

Following the line of an outstretched hand, Hongjoong glanced at Kim. 

The Meta’s jaw was clenched so hard he could practically hear his teeth grinding together with the effort as he kept his attention focused on the masked man ahead. His chest heaved with exertion, face twisted from exhaustion and pain.

“Get away from me,” he ground out, voice hoarse as sweat started beading anew on his pale face. 

When San moved forward, he jerked back with a hiss, turning to glare at them with baleful eyes.

“Now!” he snapped, fear flooding his features as an orange glow crept under his skin.

“Oh _shit_ ,” San breathed out.

“We have to go,” Yunho said, urgency colouring his tone. He reached out for Hongjoong, gripping tight with a bloodstained hand.

_“He explodes, Hongjoong.”_

“San, get us out of here!” Hongjoong ordered.

He had barely blinked as San wrenched them out of there, taking them to the rooftop of a warehouse nearby. 

A split second later a blinding burst of orange and red coloured the night sky, a low boom echoing as the blast engulfed the scrapyard. The shockwave sent his ears ringing as he grabbed hold of Yunho and San, yanking them down to the trembling ground as he tried to shield them. They hunkered down as the air sang with flying debris and residual heat washed over them for what felt like forever until it finally died down.

“Are you guys okay?” he asked as he slowly pulled away from them.

He gave them both a quick once over, pleased to note that they weren’t any worse for wear - aside from Yunho’s gunshot wound. They nodded, Yunho grimacing slightly as he clutched at his weeping shoulder. 

“Second time I’ve been around him when he went off. Not really having a blast, I’ll tell you that,” Yunho grumbled.

San barked out a laugh while Hongjoong rolled his eyes at the joke. 

“Glad to see your humour survived intact.”

He waited for the ground to stop shaking (or was that his legs) before standing back up, his ears roaring dully as he turned to assess the damage.

“ _Fucking hell_.”

He couldn’t see much now that the floodlights had been knocked out but fires had sprung up around the area, throwing twisted metal and charred earth into sharp relief as they stared down at whatever was left of the scrapyard.

No way would _that_ go unnoticed now.

“We gotta get him out of there,” Hongjoong said, looking back to find San’s hand already outstretched towards him.

Up close the devastation was even worse. The closest towering piles of scrap metal had been blown apart, pieces flung far and wide as they were reduced to fragments. Some were still red hot while others were smoking as Hongjoong looked around at the wreckage. _Holy shit Yunho really wasn’t kidding._

Casting a sharp eye around, he caught no trace of any others. The creature and the masked man were nowhere to be found thank _fuck_ but that didn’t mean they were safe just yet.

He started towards the unmoving lump that was Kim, pausing when his leg caught on something. Squinting down at it, he made out singed straps and fabric. His eyes widened when he looked back up at Kim, piecing it together. Touching it tentatively to make sure it wasn’t too hot, he grabbed it as he went to check on the Meta. 

He dropped down next to him, gently rolling him onto his back from where he’d curled in on his side. Kim was out cold, lying so still that Hongjoong feared for the worst. 

“He’s not dead, is he?” San asked from over his shoulder.

Holding two fingers under Kim’s nose, Hongjoong waited until he felt the faintest rush of air against his skin as the Meta exhaled. Relief swept through him as he shook his head, releasing the shaky breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding.

He held out the tattered remains of what he could only assume to be Kim’s bag to San. Then he tugged Kim onto his lap, manoeuvring the other man so he could loop an arm around his middle from behind. Kim’s head lolled into the crook of his neck as he reached out for San just as the sound of sirens started in the near distance.

“ _Oop_ that’s our cue,” San said, dragging Yunho down as he gripped Kim’s hand while Hongjoong seized hold of San’s shoulder.

The scrapyard disappeared with a _crack_ , the world melting away in a dizzying meld of colours before rearranging itself. Hongjoong kept his eyes squeezed shut, as another crack went off, followed by another, and another, and another. 

When they were finally back at base after what seemed like an eternity of cracks, Hongjoong almost threw up all over the tiled floors of the recovery room. Some Metas could follow through teleportation portals or tears so it was best to cover all bases and throw them for a loop by giving them the runaround. It just _really_ fucking sucked.

“Fucking finally!” Wooyoung damn near yelled, Hongjoong’s head spiking with pain as he cracked his eyes open against the bright lights.

“They’re back! Seonghwa, get your ass over here!”

There was a thundering of footsteps and a blur of movement before Seonghwa was crouching in front of him. Seonghwa’s eyes were wide, flitting from him and down to the Meta lying unconscious in his arms and back up to him. The scales on his face rippled in small waves, quick and sharp, betraying his nerves.

“I got him, Hwa,” Hongjoong murmured.

Seonghwa’s face split into a grin, that pained looking one Hongjoong always found so endearing.

“Yeah you did, Joong. You did good.”

“Think he’ll be okay?” he asked quietly.

Seonghwa’s brow furrowed as he took in Kim’s bloody state, running a clinical eye up and down the Meta’s broken body.

“Yeah, Joong,” he said softly. “You’ve seen Yoo work with worse.”

The adrenaline was fleeing his system fast, leaving him drained and exhausted as he nodded dumbly. His hand flapped uselessly as he tried to gesture at Kim. Seonghwa snorted, looking up and beckoning Yeosang over.

“We’ll take it from here,” he told Hongjoong before turning back to Yeosang. “Let’s get him on the cot.”

Hongjoong found the nearest wall to lean on, staying seated on the ground for a moment longer as he watched the room devolve into controlled chaos. Bang’s healer, Yoo, dropped by to lend a helping hand with Kim while Seonghwa and Mingi tended to Yunho and San. Yeah, they’d be alright he reckoned.

  
  


**~*~*~*~*~*~**

  
  


Jongho remembered the familiar heat burning him alive from the inside out, energising him for one fleeting moment - but one moment was all he needed. He remembered the masked man and the beast, fear, anger, and hatred flashing white hot in his chest as he focused on them. He remembered unleashing the energy with reckless abandon once the other Metas had left him alone, blipping away from him.

Then his world was consumed by heat, orange and red, as it spilled out of him, laying waste to everything around him.

He didn’t remember falling though, just the numb darkness as it crashed over him and dragged him under where nothing hurt. He let it keep him for a while, too tired to return to the land of the living. He floated, giving in to the bone deep exhaustion he’d been carrying around for so long.

Every once in a while he felt something brush against him (his mind?), faint and soft. He flinched away from it, withdrawing into himself as he slept. He was just so _tired_ . _Couldn’t they let him rest?_ As if hearing him, it retracted, leaving the echoes of an apology in its wake.

After an indiscernible amount of time, he could feel himself slowly gaining consciousness as his mind dredged up the junkyard. It looped the painful memories until he woke with a gasp, fear choking him as his eyes flew open.

He blinked up at the blue walls, chest heaving as his heart thundered. Slowly levering himself up into a sitting position, he stared around the room.

He had been expecting a cell when he opened his eyes, either New Wave or Psy-Ops. 

This was… not it.

It was a bedroom from what he could tell, tiny and containing not much else aside from the bed he was in. There was a dresser off to the side and a chair in the corner with a book on it oddly enough. There was no stereotypical barred window or sliding hatch to shove food through. Even the bed was comfortable, the blanket soft and warm, if a little well worn.

Jongho stared down at the IV line running from his left hand. He’d missed the bag hanging from the bed frame on his first panicked look around the room. Noticing it now, he ripped it out, barely feeling the sting as the needle slid free. _What the fuck had they given him?_

As he’d done so, the sleeve of the shirt he was wearing (which was distinctly not his) slid down, revealing faded scars where the Meta had clawed him during the fight. Eyes widening, he yanked at his other sleeve to find a matching set. There was a strange bracelet wrapped snugly around his right wrist but he ignored it for now. 

Peering under the shirt collar, Jongho found his shoulder to be in the same condition, his hand finding nothing but soft scars that felt to be months old. He rotated the arm slowly, mouth falling open when nothing hurt.

Looking down, he threw the blanket aside, staring down at his leg in shock. He tugged at his pants leg, flexing the leg in awe and watching it move without any pain. Even a deep breath in revealed his cracked and bruised ribs to be healed. 

_What the hell was going on?_

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door, jolting Jongho out of his thoughts as his head swivelled around to stare at it. It swung open, a man stepping through with a tray of food balanced carefully in his hands.

Jongho instinctively backed away from him, curling up into the corner as he warily tracked the man’s every move.

The man gave him a smile, gentle and placating, as he placed the tray on the dresser before backing up when he saw how Jongho tensed.

“Hello, Jongin.”

Jongho’s stomach flipped at the name. The bed frame was already digging into his back: any further and he’d have to push right through the wall. Not that he couldn’t if he really wanted to of course. His eyes darted to the closed door before going back to the man.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” the man said. Jongho was surprised to find that he actually sounded sincere.

“Who are you?” Jongho managed to croak out. 

_Fuck_ his throat was dry and he hadn’t even realised until he’d tried to talk. He winced, eyes darting to the tantalising bottle of water on the tray.

“My name’s Seonghwa. I’m a Meta just like you.”

Then gone was the normal human appearance as the man - Seonghwa - _shifted_ right before his very eyes. 

Scales - because there really was no other way to fucking describe them - rippled across his skin, revealing blue skin covered in them. Jongho gaped in wide-eyed wonder, staring at the iridescent scales as they caught the light; they were hypnotic, flashing different colours as the light caught them at different angles. When he glanced back up at Seonghwa’s face, he found the Meta’s eyes to be a warm golden instead of the brown from earlier. His hair had also changed, the black melting away to reveal a shock of bright silver.

“I’m a shapeshifter if you hadn’t figured that out,” Seonghwa said with a conspiratorial smile, eyes twinkling with mirth at Jongho’s gawking no doubt.

Jongho could only nod dumbly at that before his brain reminded him of other pressing questions. He licked his lips, swallowing to try and get his parched throat working.

“Why am I here?”

The smile fell from Seonghwa’s face, sombreness settling into his features as he looked at Jongho.

“You were attacked a week ago. Do you remember?”

Claws sinking into flesh. Endless screaming. A cracked mask.

Jongho fought to suppress a shudder as he nodded. _How could he ever forget?_

But wait-

“‘A week ago’?” 

Seonghwa nodded, lips slightly pursed. 

“We found you just in time but you were in pretty bad shape. So we brought you back here. You must’ve been pretty tired because you just kept sleeping. Had us worried there for a second.” Seonghwa had said it lightly, teasing almost, but his eyes were kind.

Jongho touched the scars, healed as if he’d been asleep for months instead of days.

“How?” he asked, unsure of how to phrase the question but Seonghwa seemed to understand nonetheless.

“We know a Meta gifted with healing. He fixed you up. Free of charge, of course,” he winked.

Jongho simply stared for a long moment.

“Who _are_ you people?” he asked, voice pitched low to hide the tremors.

Immediately sensing the sparkings of fear, Seonghwa tried to placate him, posture calming as if talking down a spooked horse.

“We’re part of the Underground, a Meta network dedicated to helping out Metas in a tight spot,” he explained. “We were investigating something when we bumped into you at your apartment building. After what happened, we knew others would come after you so we tried to get to you first.”

Seonghwa’s eyes flashed with something dark for a fleeting moment as they darted for a brief second to Jongho’s shoulder and leg, recalling the wounds that had been there. Then the look was melting away just as quickly as it had appeared, his face settling back into that open expression from before as he met Jongho’s eyes again.

“We help Metas flee the country if they wish to do so, if life is too dangerous for them here. Most of them do and they end up settling down in pro-Meta countries where they can enjoy life.” 

His eyes softened as he said, “We can do the same for you too if you want. All we want is to help you, Jongin.”

Jongho was surprised a halo hadn’t sprung up over Seonghwa’s head as he extended the offer, expression betraying nothing but a fierce sincerity.

Jongho remembered the stories his mother would whisper to him at night, of Metas who could help them, who would jump into the fray and whisk them away to a far off land like heroes in fairy tales. As a child he’d listened in awe, eyes wide with wonder until he’d fall asleep to his mother’s voice. After he lost her, reality had sunk in like a brick when he realised that it had all been a lie: that they had just been his mother’s faraway dreams woven into bedtime stories to keep his hopes up as she tried to protect him. They’d ended up crushed anyways, stolen away in the dark of night just like she had been.

It was all too good to be true.

He shook his head, a hand coming up to clutch at it. No way was this real. Because if it was real then where were they all those years ago? Where were they when his mother had needed help?

She had made the mistake of trusting someone, another Meta, and it had cost her her life. 

Jongho clenched his hands, trying to still the tremors when his body started to shake. In his periphery, he saw Seonghwa take an aborted step towards him. The Meta looked off to the side, eyes darting to the door as if he could see right through it and communicate with whoever else was on the other side. Jongho wouldn’t be surprised if there _was_ someone out there, standing just on the other side at the ready. It would be stupid to send in someone alone without any backup into a room with a living bomb.

“The New Wave offered to ‘help’ too,” Jongho told him.

Seonghwa stiffened, shock flashing in his eyes before his expression hardened. 

“They damn near killed me. So why should I trust you?”

The air thickened with the brief pause as Seonghwa regarded him for a long moment. He sighed, scales rippling slightly with an emotion Jongho couldn’t quite figure out.

“I know this is all very confusing for you, Jongin,” he said softly. “But I promise you. We just want to help.”

Then he said something that completely wrenched the rug out from under Jongho’s already shaky feet.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t get to you sooner.”

Jongho froze, staring up at Seonghwa with wide eyes. But the Meta kept going.

“I’m sorry you were alone for so long. But you aren’t, Jongin, not anymore.”

_That wasn’t- Seonghwa couldn’t possibly understand._

As if peering right into his mind, Seonghwa’s expression relayed that _yes, he just might._

“The Underground is full of people like you and I. Metas - and sometimes even humans - who were abandoned and used.” 

Seonghwa’s eyes flashed, scales rippling as Jongho picked apart the emotions he could see: sorrow, anger, _pain_. Jongho got the distinct feeling that Seonghwa wasn’t one to display such feelings openly, let alone in the presence of a stranger such as him. The realisation left him unsettled, confused as to why the other Meta would bare such weakness to him.

He scrutinised Seonghwa, infinitely wary. Either the Meta was a hell of an actor or he was telling the truth. A small voice in Jongho’s head told him that it was the latter.

“We’re just trying to save as many as we can.”

Seonghwa’s voice took on a sad note at the end and Jongho came to the shocking realisation that he actually believed him.

That small voice in his head (that sounded far too much like his mother for his liking) told him to ask himself why they’d gone through all the trouble of saving his sorry ass and patching him up when they could’ve just left him for dead in that scrapyard. Would’ve been easier to just write him off as a loss and call it a day. But they hadn’t. 

His mind flashed with the memory of gunshots, someone falling as they took a bullet while trying to help him. He winced, gripping his arms tight as he looked away from Seonghwa, unable to meet his eyes. 

He found himself wanting to ask about the Meta - the one with the blue sparks from the apartment building and the scrapyard. Was he okay? Jongho grappled with the uncomfortable sensation as he found himself actually caring about someone else after only caring about himself for so long.

He should hate it. In their world, caring for others only left you broken when they were eventually ripped away from you. 

Instead he found himself asking, “Your friend. Is he okay?”

Seonghwa’s brow wrinkled in confusion as Jongho peered back up at him. His mouth opened and shut soundlessly for a moment as he wracked his brain trying to find the right words until they hit him.

“‘Sparky Boy’?” he tried, wincing slightly. “He got shot. I remember.”

Seonghwa’s confusion melted away, expression softening as he burst into soft laughter at the name.

“Yunho’s fine. He got healed up on the same night as you. Don’t worry about him.”

Jongho nodded jerkily, relief flooding his chest. He didn’t know what he would do if someone else died because of him.

“You can meet him later if you’d like to. Him and the others,” Seonghwa told him, eyes pressing into soft crescent shapes as he gave Jongho a small smile.

Jongho nodded again, not quite realising what he’d just agreed to if he was honest. He was just glad Sparky Boy - Yunho was okay.

“When can I leave this fucking country?” he asked quietly, afraid to even voice it out loud as if the moment he did the universe would find another spectacular way to fuck with him.

He wanted out so bad. It felt like a physical wound, wide and gaping. Every day it would ache, raw with desperation and _want_. For so long, he hadn’t allowed himself to hope because it simply hurt too bad but now? 

Jongho held his breath as he waited for Seonghwa to answer him.

“Not anytime soon I’m afraid.”

Jongho released the shaky breath he’d been holding, unsurprised but still disappointed despite himself. _Fuck._

“The borders are a little tight right now,” Seonghwa said, frowning apologetically. “We’ve had a few close calls with Psy-Ops so we’re laying low for the moment until it all dies down hopefully.”

Jongho winced at the thought that he probably - most definitely - had contributed to that.

“Besides,” Seonghwa gave Jongho a look, eyes darting pointedly to the IV bag, “you need to rest. You lost a lot of blood.”

Jongho grimaced as he glanced back down at the needle he’d ripped out in his earlier panic.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Seonghwa just gave him another soft smile. “It’s okay. You were scared. It’s understandable.”

A shudder passed through Jongho as he looked down, embarrassment burning through him at how Seonghwa had read him so easily.

“Still, you should really finish that bag. Do you mind?”

Seonghwa was looking at him, expectant as he waited patiently. Jongho nodded slowly, holding out his left hand towards the Meta. He watched as Seonghwa approached him, moving carefully so as to not spook him.

Seonghwa pulled a fresh needle, still in its sterilised packaging from a dresser drawer, along with some other items. He tugged on a pair of gloves he’d pulled out of nowhere. His hands were gentle as he cleaned the area and inserted the needle, Jongho watching with a morbid curiousity as he taped it in place.

“There,” Seonghwa said once he’d finished. “Now that you’re up and able to eat by yourself, you shouldn’t need any more of these.” He flashed Jongho another smile.

This close to him, Jongho could make out flashes of pink and purple spilling out across Seonghwa’s scales as he moved. He looked away, catching sight of the bracelet he’d forgotten about.

“What’s this?” he asked, holding up his wrist.

Upon closer inspection he saw faint lights blinking across its length. He frowned down at it, looking back up at Seonghwa.

“ _Ah,_ ” Seonghwa said, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “It’s an inhibitor.”

“What?”

“It inhibits Meta abilities,” Seonghwa clarified, meeting his confused gaze. “Your ability is extremely powerful, Jongin. We couldn’t risk it.”

Jongho’s brow furrowed, indignation sparking in his chest, hot and sharp. 

He wormed a finger under the tight fit, experimentally tugging at it. It didn’t budge, even when he tried with his full strength.

Jongho didn’t particularly know what he was feeling if he was honest. He stared down at the innocuous little band of silver.

He wanted to be angry at them for essentially kneecapping him but at the same time he grudgingly understood the necessity. He’d wiped out entire buildings before, had brought them crumbling to their knees. He knew better than anyone else how deadly he could be.

Of course they’d slapped it on him to stop him from blowing them all up to kingdom come.

“We’ll take it off later once you’re feeling better. I promise,” Seonghwa told him, eyes beseeching.

Jongho sighed, too tired to be needlessly angry at this point as it drained out of him. Even if he hated it, the experience likening him to a dog with an electric shock collar in his mind, he could still see the logic in it. 

“Fine,” he said, brusque as he shook out his sleeve to hide the fucking thing from sight.

Seonghwa exhaled in relief as he gave Jongho a grateful smile. 

He was about to say something when Jongho’s stomach grumbled, the sound carrying in the quiet. Jongho felt his cheeks warm as they flushed in embarrassment. Seonghwa laughed softly as he clapped his hands on his thighs.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” he said, getting up from the edge of Jongho’s bed where he’d perched himself. 

He replaced himself with the tray of food, cracking open the water bottle without a second thought as he handed it to Jongho.

“Eat up and just yell into the hallway if you need anything, yeah?”

Jongho nodded, watching as Seonghwa retrieved the book from the chair in the corner. His eye twitched, his stomach flipping over at the thought of Seonghwa watching over him as he slept, reading to pass the time.

“I’ll swing by later with dinner. Get some rest before then, Jongin.”

“Jongho,” he blurted out.

Seonghwa blinked at him, pausing with his hand on the doorknob.

Jongho nibbled on his bottom lip, teeth catching on chapped flakes, as he gripped the water bottle tight. He held Seonghwa’s puzzled gaze as he took a deep steadying breath, trying to not psych himself out as he took the first step in trusting.

“My name is Choi Jongho,” he said quietly.

No one alive knew his real name. Maybe later he’d kick himself for revealing it to a shapeshifting Meta just because he was the first person in a long time who’d shown Jongho any real kindness. But for now, that small voice in his head was nothing but proud of him for telling someone who he really was.

Seonghwa blinked once before a wide smile broke out across his face, his eyes creasing as his scales rippled.

“Thank you for telling me. Get some rest, Jongho.”

Jongho’s head bobbed as he nodded shakily then Seonghwa was gone. 

Tugging the bottle open, he gulped down the water greedily, slowing down only after he’d finished off half. He didn’t want to be sick so soon after waking up. Gingerly, he uncovered the dishes, the smell wafting over him as his stomach growled again.

Picking up the chopsticks, Jongho got to eating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you so much for waiting.  
> Life's been a little rough which is why I couldn't update as soon as I wanted. Then I realised I absolutely hated what I'd written and scrapped it. Wrestled with a lot of doubt writing this chapter ngl. But it's here! It's done! lmao now a bajillion more to go
> 
> But yeah thank you for reading. Please do drop a kudos or leave a comment behind. They honestly mean the world to me ♥ I really hope you enjoyed that ♥
> 
> But YEAH THE GANG'S GETTING TOGETHER BABEY!!! E X C I T E D FOR WHAT'S IN STORE FOR MY BABIES WOO!  
> I'm so glad Jongho's finally getting someone in his corner. /sniffs/ Look at him, all grown up and trusting people.  
> Also the mental image of Seonghwa watching over recuperating Jongho and reading is killing me. S o f t  
> Yunho's never gonna live down Sparky Boy tbh lmao


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